


An Ounce of Wit

by Winddrag0n



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Ableism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Assault, Bar Fight, Biting, Bottom Will Graham, Catboy Will Graham, Christmas Party, Confinement, Cooking, Empath Will Graham, Fake Dating, Flirting, Good Friend Hannibal, Hand Jobs, Home Invasion, Homophobia, Kidnapping, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Prostate Massage, Racism, Romantic Gestures, SO MUCH PETTING, Scenting, Sexism, Slow Burn, Top Hannibal Lecter, also a lot of cuddling, brief case fic eventually, contractually obligated opera date, improper handling of a tail, modern magical au, okay he's a snow leopard but it's close enough, petting, subtle murder, their own special brand of dirty talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:28:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 69,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22407949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winddrag0n/pseuds/Winddrag0n
Summary: “It’s heavier than I expected. Anyways, here.” She walks in front of Will, and in her hands she is holding a long, furry snake. It’s white on the bottom, the top a dirty grey, with dark, blurry rosettes sprinkled along its length. “Where did you get that?” Will asks quietly, his brain rejecting the fact that it feels like a part of him.“It’s attached to your ass, dude. You have a fucking tail.”--AKA a modern magical AU where the entire point is to turn Will Graham into a catboy.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 149
Kudos: 988





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay this needs... a lot of disclaimers.
> 
> Right off the bat- this is a finished piece I will be uploading weekly. It's also weirdly, ungodly long. Like 70k words long. The rating is for the entire fic but the tags will (for the most part) be updated as we go.
> 
> The content... this is pretty much entirely character driven. There are story arcs but none that really span the entire thing, mostly coming and going as needed. In addition- this is pretty ridiculous. It absolutely has serious moments but for the most part it's total inanity. 
> 
> And finally, the world itself- the system of magic here I made up entirely on the fly and it is not based on anything currently existing. I tried to iron out any inconsistencies that arose but if any slipped through, I apologize.

Headaches were something Will was intimately familiar with, though the one that had set upon him at Quantico had grown into something else entirely. The case was over, solved several days ago, and most of their time was simply spent going over the facts, tying up loose ends, and filling out the last pieces of paperwork. Jack noticed Will’s grimace as the sun threatened to set and dismissed the entire team so as not to draw special attention to it. Will turned down offers of dinner, something not unusual for him, and drove back home trying to ignore the throbbing in his head. He managed to feed his dogs and let them out before the full force of the pain struck him, unlike any he had ever felt before. He staggered into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a handful of aspirin, and collapsed down onto his bed hours later, hoping he would simply pass out and wake up better in the morning.

It wasn’t the smartest plan, but when he wakes in the morning it’s only with the pain of a hangover, albeit a powerful one. His steps are unsteady as he pulls together clothes, not even bothering to tuck his shirt in. It’s cold, so he pulls a beanie down over his ears after splashing some water on his face. The light hurts, so he brushes his teeth with his eyes closed. The dogs are acting strangely, only eating their food once he is a safe distance away, and his lower back hurts. He probably slept wrong, thinks nothing further of it, and drives to Quantico.

He hears whispers, can feel people staring at him as he arrives and walks to the building. It’s not the first time he’s arrived at work worse for the wear, but the dumb look security shoots him is new. With a single purpose, he finds his way to the break room, waving to Beverly, who gapes at him. He pours and drinks his coffee. Why is it so fucking bright?

“Uh,” she begins, picking her way over to him. “Did you lose a bet or something?”

Will shoots her a questioning look. “Just hungover. Why is everyone giving me weird looks?”

“Do you really- look behind you.”

Will tries to look behind him, catching flashes of white and dark grey, but as he spins he never gets closer. “What are you-”

“Jesus, Will, stop, you’re like a top over there. Stand still.” Beverly tiptoes behind him, leaning down to grab something, hefting it up with a grunt, and Will has the oddest sensation of someone touching a limb he does not have. “It’s heavier than I expected. Anyways, here.”

She walks in front of Will, and in her hands she is holding a long, furry snake. It’s white on the bottom, the top a dirty grey, with dark, blurry rosettes sprinkled along its length. “Where did you get that?” Will asks quietly, his brain rejecting the fact that it feels like a part of him.

“It’s attached to your ass, dude. You have a fucking tail.”

Instead of addressing that, Will begins to have a breakdown, and Beverly drops his tail back to the ground with a _thud_. “Okay, calm down, it’s not a big deal, let’s just-”

Jack chooses this moment to enter the small dining area, takes one look at Will, and sighs. “My office,” he shrugs, taking it surprisingly well.

They practically drag Will there, dodging foot traffic as they go, and Jack locks the door behind him. “Is this related to the previous case?” Beverly asks, pacing.

“You’d have to ask Will,” Jack sighs, rubbing his temples. “He’s the expert on this type of thing.”

“Will!” Beverly snaps her fingers in front of Will’s face, trying to shake him out of his panic. “Will, listen to me, you’re the only one with any kind of magical knowledge, so can you stop freaking out for one second?” He blinks up at her rapidly, and she lightly slaps his cheek. Instinctively, his mouth curls up into a snarl, and she stumbles backwards. “Jack, he’s got _fangs!_ ”

“Don’t touch me,” he hisses. “I- give me a minute.” He takes several deep breaths, closes his eyes, and when he opens them once more, he is feeling remarkably calm. “Sorry for- snapping at you,” he finally says.

“You _hissed at me,_ ” Beverly whispers, eyes wide. “Like actually hissed at me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Will mutters covering his face with his hands. “Okay, so this is obviously a transformation spell.”

“Not a curse?” Jack raises an eyebrow.

“No, you can’t do this kind of thing as a curse, but I definitely didn’t do this to myself either.” He steps back, tries to move his new limb, finding that while he cannot move it with the dexterity of an arm or a leg, it reacts to his movements automatically to aid his balance. “I don’t- you said I had fangs?” He turns to Jack now, opens his mouth, and his boss nods. “That’s not how these spells work. They add features, not replace them entirely.”

“What about ears?” Beverly suggests. 

“I, um, they usually appear near the top of the head,” Will answers, brow furrowed. “You end up with two sets, it can really make the transformation hard on people, too many sensory inputs.”

“Well,” she says, and unceremoniously rips the beanie off of Will’s head.

They all fall silent, and Will sees that they are looking just past his jawline, and not above his head. When he reaches for his human ears, he finds they are larger and protrude out further, more rounded, and furred. “Oh fuck,” he whispers, frantically feeling through his hair and finding nothing more. “I have- what the hell is-”

“I’m going to make some calls,” Jack says, voice tight. 

While Jack is on the phone, Beverly helps Will test his new features. When she touches the ears, they flick away, and if she stands far enough away they swivel towards whatever sound she makes. They flatten back when she touches his tail again, an obvious sign of discomfort. “How the hell did you get dressed without noticing this?” she asks, pointing at the massive tail. "Aren't your pants falling off your ass?"

They were. He somehow had not noticed. “I got _really_ drunk last night,” Will mutters, head in his hands.

Jack, it seems, has called an impromptu meeting. Price and Zeller arrive first, from elsewhere in the building, and Will almost laughs at how large he sees Zeller’s eyes get. Instead, his nose crinkles. “You smell weird,” he says.

Jimmy laughs, uproariously. “I don’t know how to take that,” Zeller replies.

Will cocks his head, considering. “Do you have a cat?”

The man in question looks shocked, again. “I do,” he finally confirms.

Will inhales again. “Two,” he corrects.

“Two,” Brian admits, and behind him, Price continues to cackle.

Next comes Alana, giving the impression that she would have dropped whatever she had been holding if she had had anything in her hands, and Will is displeased to see Chilton right behind her. “Chilton?” he growls, seeing the way the man’s eyes light up upon seeing him.

“He knows a lot about curses,” Jack shrugs. “Figured we should cover all our bases.”

The last person to arrive is Hannibal. While his face betrays no emotion, he does visibly pause when he sees Will, and his eyes dilate. Will flattens his ears back against his head, knowing instantly that whatever happened to him, it was Hannibal’s fault.

“Okay,” Jack begins, once they have all settled into the room. “Will,” he says, immediately handing the conversation over to the reason for the gathering.

Will sighs. He is seated on a backwards chair, allowing room for his tail to hang behind him. “I woke up like this,” he offers weakly. “Had a really bad headache last night, went to bed, woke up and…” He gestures to his new features.

“Anyone know what animal he is now?” Price chirps playfully. “Some kind of leopard, right?”

“A snow leopard,” Hannibal expands, eyes locked onto the heavy tail behind Will. “The large tail indicates as much.”

“Do you have any idea what happened?” Alana asks, steering the conversation back on track. “I know they’re rare, but I’ve never seen a transformation spell quite like this before.”

“I have no idea,” Will admits. 

“Could it be connected to the case we just finished?” Jack asks. The case had involved a warlock that had gone mad, cursing people left and right, until Will had been able to track him down and he was apprehended. 

“I still don’t think this is a curse, but…” Begrudgingly, Will turns towards Chilton, asking for a second opinion.

“I agree,” the man says happily. “Curses are hateful, malicious things, and this would be both profoundly difficult to cast and oddly benign. I can’t see anyone being able to pull it off.”

“So it is likely simply a transformation spell,” Hannibal adds. “If so, it will wear off in time, will it not?”

Alana, across the room, chews on her bottom lip. “I’m not so sure,” she finally says, echoing Will’s own doubts. “It’s not presenting like one. We should take you to an expert, see what they say about it.”

“Is it possible his inherent powers altered the spell somehow?” Chilton suggests, and Will sighs. Intrinsic magic, like his empathy, is rare, and he had fended off countless curious magicians wishing to take a closer look over the course of his life. Chilton was just another unusually persistent example. 

“I’m not really sure what you’re suggesting,” Will bites out. “Do you think I looked at a cat for long enough that I turned into one?”

Beverly does a profoundly poor job of hiding her laughter, which earns them both a stern look from Jack. “Alana, if you could arrange a meeting with an expert in this field, I would appreciate it.” She nods, and the conversation ends, meeting clearly over.

No one leaves. For what feels like the hundredth time, Will sighs, tail twitching slightly in annoyance. “One question,” he says. “You each get to ask me one. Single. Question.”

Brian speaks first. “Do you have any weird animal instincts?” he asks.

“I’ve only been awake for four hours, but so far I haven’t had the urge to piss everywhere,” Will shoots back evenly. 

“You hissed at me,” Beverly points out.

“I hissed at Beverly,” Will repeats quietly, looking away.

“Me next!” Price waves his hand in the air like a schoolboy. “How do you feel about snow leopards?”

At that, Will frowns. “I don’t feel particularly strongly either way,” he says slowly, “so I can only assume whoever cast the spell feels otherwise.” He glances towards Hannibal, searching for a reaction, and finding none. 

In the chair beside him, he hears Beverly hum. “Have your senses changed?” she asks.

“Yes,” Will replies, almost immediately. “Sight, hearing, and I can smell certain things more strongly, but not everything.” In truth, there was one more- he had hissed at Beverly earlier because her palm on his chin had felt overwhelming, bordering on painful. Increased physical sensitivity was almost embarrassing, and he had always avoided touch regardless, so he saw no benefit to sharing that particular piece of information at the moment.

“How about your empathy?” Alana continues. “Has it changed in any way?”

“Not on a basic level,” Will answers. Everything he picks up unconsciously is still functioning as normal. “I haven’t tried anything in depth, but if anyone wants to volunteer I can see what happens.”

“Do Brian,” Beverly suggests with a grin.

“Please do Brian,” Jimmy agrees. 

Zeller tries to protest, but the others wear him down, and soon enough he is standing in front of Will. “Tell me if my eyes change,” Will murmurs, and then closes them. Inside, he pulls the power forwards, sees everything take on a golden hue, and when he opens his eyes again they are a solid, shining blue.

Will sees Brian in front of him, but while what he sees holds the shape of a man, it swirls with emotions and memories, and those are what he plucks out. “You stayed in last night,” he begins, reading that which is at the forefront and easiest to see. “Everyone invited you for drinks but you went straight home. They all think you got a girlfriend, but in actuality, you adopted a kitten recently and hurried home to play with it. It does not have a name yet, but she gets along well with your older cat, Trixie, and you are overjoyed because of it. You don’t tell many people about your cats, fearing it makes you seem unmanly, and go to great lengths to ensure no cat hair or scent remains on your clothes. There are pictures of them in your wallet. You-” Will blinks now, his pupils reappearing as the golden glow fades and he finds himself back in reality. “You think I’m cute?”

“I’m not attracted to you!” Zeller sputters, cheeks coloring. “You just have the tail and the little cat ears and-”

“You just really love cats,” Price finishes, smiling broadly. He holds a palm out towards Beverly, who discreetly slaps a ten dollar bill into it.

“Your eyes did the usual,” Jack interjects, stopping whatever is happening before it can truly begin. “Chilton, do you have any questions?”

“Will, with your permission, I would like to run some-”

“No,” Will interrupts as Zeller shamefully sits down. “What about you, Jack?”

He considers it for a moment before finally asking “Do you think you are going to try and hide them?”

“I think that ship has sailed,” Will answers. “Too many people saw me on the way in. I can’t exactly pretend like they don’t exist at this point.” Depending on what the expert says, if this was truly permanent… it could pose a whole other issue. Permanent transformation spells did not exist, and were something a dedicated subset of people searched for feverishly. Combined with his empathy, he would be hunted down constantly if word got out, but that was a bridge they could cross if they came to it. “Hannibal?” he asks, turning towards the silent man. “Got anything you wanna ask?”

He remains silent for a long moment. “May I touch it?”

The room falls deathly silent, and Will’s ears flatten back against his head. “I’m sorry?” he says slowly, each word sharp as a dagger.

“Your tail,” Hannibal clarifies, eyes locked onto the appendage in question. “May I touch it?”

A deep rumbling sound comes forth from Will’s throat, and the corners of his lips pull up in the beginnings of a snarl. “We can discuss that,” he grinds out, voice dangerously low, “at our _session tonight._ ”

Hannibal’s eyes flick upwards, locking with Will’s, and he nods. They did not have any session planned tonight, at least not before now, but Will has no doubt he will clear his schedule for the matter. “Very well,” he concedes, folding his hands across his lap. “Tonight.”

After everyone has left, Jack sends Will home for the day, to give him time to adjust to the changes. His dogs remain wary, several of them growling at him, but they do not shake or flee in fright, and he hopes with enough work he will regain their trust. It hurts to see them make wide berths around his form, but he focuses on the future, planning out how to gradually soothe them. Eventually, it is time to drive to Baltimore, though he has some difficulty fitting his tail around him in the car. He has no idea how he had managed it when he had been unaware of its presence, but for now settles on curling it around his middle like a belt.

These ‘sessions’, as they have continued to call them, have absolutely nothing to do with therapy in any form. Quite some time ago, Hannibal had been brought on to help with a particularly sensitive case, something where it was important that his involvement be kept secret. Will, somewhat grudgingly, acted as a liason. It had worked so well that they never really stopped. Hannibal had charmed his way into Will’s life, into _all_ of theirs, almost effortlessly.

He just barely holds himself back from lunging at Hannibal when the other man opens the door to his office at precisely 7:30 pm. “Hello, Will,” the other man greets with a smile.

Will shoulders his way inside, not even removing his coat. “I’m going to fucking kill you,” he growls.

Hannibal’s smile falters, but then his eyes light up with something different. “Have I done something to offend you?”

“Don’t play coy.” Will makes his way to the chaise lounge, unable to take his usual armchair due to his tail, which he curls behind him as he sits. Here he removes his jacket, throwing it to the floor along with his messenger bag. “Give me the spellbook.”

“You know I do not have any spellbooks.” Normally, Hannibal would be telling the truth, as he is so disinterested in magic that it’s almost remarkable how little he knows.

“I know you asked for it,” Will counters, holding out a hand. “The warlock’s book. If you don’t give it to me willingly, I’ll find it myself.”

The threat brings forth a genuine look of displeasure on Hannibal’s face. He is an incredibly guarded person, more so than even Will. The empath respected that, and has not used his magic on him once. He’s not, however, above wielding it as a threat. “Very well,” Hannibal says, tight-lipped. He locates the book among his bookcases and hands it over with only the slightest hesitation.

It feels like poison in Will’s hands. He can feel the madness radiating off the pages and his nose wrinkles in distaste. “Are you going to tell me which one you used or are you going to make me guess?”

“There was no need to threaten me,” Hannibal huffs instead of answering the question.

Will’s eyebrows furrow. He’ll be able to find it easily, there should be a lingering power from the spell or ritual most recently cast, but it still would have been faster to be given a page number. “Do you realize that this might be permanent?” Will grumbles, turning the pages slowly until he reaches the correct one. _A spell to bring forth what is buried deep inside,_ it read. “I don’t think you understand what you’ve done.” He studies the two-page spread, sees the complex patterns on the circle, and his heart sinks. “It was a ritual,” he says out loud, dejected. “Of course it fucking was.” If he was being honest with himself, he expected it to be- while it was entirely possible Hannibal had some latent magical ability, more than the low level most everyone has, it was significantly more likely that he had attempted a ritual instead of a spell.

“I was very careful to follow the instructions,” Hannibal interjects, the first real admission of guilt he has given. 

“ _You can’t reverse a ritual!”_ Will’s voice is loud, not quite a shout but dangerously close. His tail is twitching beside him, slapping against the leather of the chaise lounge with a series of dull _thwumps._ “A spell- if it was a spell you didn’t realize you could cast, you could reverse it yourself. A ritual is cast using the _latent magic of the earth itself._ They either work and it’s permanent, or they backfire and _that’s permanent too._ You’re going to sit down and we’re going to go through this step by step to see where you fucked this up.”

Hannibal, surprisingly, does what is asked of him. Will knows Hannibal well enough to know that he would have drawn the circle perfectly, and it was unlikely he had made a mistake in the actual casting, but he goes over those for the sake of completion. Finally, they are at the portion where the vast majority of mistakes are made- the catalysts. 

Most people assume that they only have to get them _mostly_ right, and they cannot be more wrong, and dangerously so. Rituals were terribly finicky and even the slightest variance could change the outcome drastically, or cause it to fail entirely. If you were lucky, it simply did nothing, but if it backfired, the outcome was often horrific or even fatal. “Death Cap mushrooms picked from where they grow along Porcini, in Wales,” Will reads.

“I arranged for those to be flown over and can vouch for their accuracy myself,” Hannibal replies.

Will wants to be surprised, he really does, but he has long since stopped questioning Hannibal’s ability to procure essentially anything. “Blood of the intended target of the ritual.” Hannibal nods, and Will makes a mental note to revisit how the fuck Hannibal had gotten ahold of his _blood_ later. “Sandstone smoothed by a river flowing backwards.” A nod. “Pelt of an albino deer.” Another nod. “Finally, a piece of the antler from said deer, dipped in the blood of a wild boar from the forests of Lithuania. What the hell is up with this spell?” Rituals often had unusual ingredients, but this seemed excessive. Perhaps the warlock had created this one well into his descent into madness.

In his armchair, Hannibal has become very still at this point. “I am from Lithuania, a mansion in the forests,” he finally says. “I used my own blood.”

Will takes a deep breath and closes the book on his lap. “You,” he begins, but stops to try and calm himself before resuming. “Did you just say you used your own blood?”

“That is correct.”

He speaks calmly, but Will’s ears are pressed flat against his skull, angled downwards, and his tail jumps at least six inches above the surface of his seat before it slams back down. “You are,” he hisses, upper lip curling away to reveal his fangs, “an _utter moron._ ” Hannibal looks offended, but Will does not give him the chance to speak. “Do you know what usually happens when you mix blood? It ends in a horrible, painful death for both people involved.”

“But it did not,” Hannibal points out.

“You’re lucky we didn’t swap limbs! You’re lucky I didn’t wake up with four pairs of arms and you with none! I don’t want to know what possessed you to try this in the first place, much less _change one of the catalysts_ \- even _you_ should know better than to do that.” Will stands abruptly, walks over to where the fire is roaring in the fireplace. “You clearly cannot be trusted with this.” He throws the book into the flames.

When he turns back around, Hannibal is standing, eyes locked on the book as it turns to ash. “That was not yours to destroy.”

“You may have ruined my life,” Will says simply. He looks away, tail and ears drooping towards the ground. “My dogs- my dogs are terrified of me, Hannibal.”

He can feel it seeping out of Hannibal- actual, genuine regret. “That was not my intention,” he says eventually, voice quiet. 

Will sighs. “At least tell me this; why a snow leopard?” The meaning the animal holds for Hannibal must be powerful, if it was written into his very blood. 

“I-” Hannibal’s mouth snaps shut and he falls uncharacteristically quiet. “Come back to my home. I will make us dinner, and I will tell you everything.”

They put out the fire and drive separately to Hannibal’s large home. The house had always been oddly decorated, but with his enhanced sight Will can see even more strange little details, tiny secrets left in the shadows. Hannibal leads them, not to the kitchen, but to his bedroom, and makes his way to an intricately carved wooden box, which he unlocks. From within, he extracts a ragged stuffed animal, a snow leopard with piercing blue eyes and fading grey spots along its body.

It would have been comical if Will couldn’t feel the emotions pouring out of it. Hannibal offers him the object, and he closes his eyes and takes it.

He sees flashes. A young girl with the same eyes and hair as Hannibal laughing and running through the snow. She drops the stuffed toy and he bends to pick it up, and then everything distorts. Screaming, heat, pain, and a sorrow so deep and biting it sucks the warmth out of the snow around it. He remembers, distantly, that there had been a case Hannibal had excused himself from, the murder of a young girl not even ten years old. It was a difficult case and so he hadn’t thought twice about it. Now, he knows why.

Will opens his eyes and finds them damp with unshed tears. He hands the precious item back to Hannibal, who safely locks it away.

He wants to say he’s sorry, wants to give some sort of reassurance, wants to soothe the pain Hannibal has lived with every day of his life since that moment. Instead, he picks up his tail, letting hang across his folded arms, and holds it forward. “Here,” he says, offering it to Hannibal.

Hannibal pauses. “Are you certain?”

“Get over here before I change my mind,” Will murmurs, and then Hannibal is right in front of him, large hands carding through the fur of his tail.

“It’s softer than I expected it to be,” Hannibal comments, voice low. 

It feels… odd. Hannibal is handling the tail with motions that can only be described as ‘petting’, and while it partly feels like someone is running a hand up and down his ankle, it’s also oddly calming. It twitches, trying instinctively to free itself from whatever has it trapped, a movement Will cannot entirely prevent. Still, he holds it as still as possible, flushing in embarrassment as the portion hanging free from his arms flicks away from Hannibal’s hands. The other man simply catches it and continues to pet the fur. It feels… nice.

Will’s ears twitch. “Were you going to make dinner at some point?” 

“Of course.” Hannibal steps back, and Will lets the tail drop behind him once more. “Thank you.”

“I’m still angry,” Will lies.

“Then let me cook for you as an apology.” Hannibal is smiling, small but powerful, and Will can’t stop the crooked thing that grows on his own face to match.

Alana is able to get them an informal meeting of sorts with her expert the very next day. Will knows it must be at least partially due to the magician’s own curiosity, but he trusts anyone Alana recommends to remain impartial. The thought of going alone unsettles him and that is how he finds himself here, in the passenger seat of Beverly’s car as she drives them to their destination. She shoots him a toothy grin. “Still a catboy?”

“Please don’t call me that,” Will groans, sinking further into his seat. He has the beanie pulled down over his ears again, tail draped across his knees. He had slept poorly and had no time to shave down his stubble, leaving him feeling ragged, nerves raw. “Yeah. Still got the whole package.”

“Leopard-man doesn’t roll off the tongue the same way,” Beverly pouts. Will knows she means no actual harm, she’s defusing the tension with humor like she always does, so he allows her gentle teasing as he always does. “Any closer to figuring out why it happened?”

Will sits back up in his seat, fingers drumming on his knee. He had considered telling Beverly what he learned, mostly because he felt like _someone_ else should know, and he can trust her not to spread the information around. Maybe he could tell her part of the truth. “Okay, can I trust you not to tell this to anyone?” She nods, and he grabs his thermos of coffee from where it’s cradled in the cup holders, feels the warmth seep into his hands. “I know who did it. Still kind of working on why.”

“Wait, was it really Hannibal?” Will had been taking a sip but his hands jerk at how quickly she pieced it together, flooding his mouth with hot coffee and burning his tongue. He swallows it down before opening his mouth, letting his tongue hang out and panting slightly, attempting to soothe it in the cool air. “Cat’s tongue,” Beverly smirks, and Will glares at her.

“What makes you think it was Hannibal?” It’s an incredibly poor attempt to salvage the situation, done mostly out of obligation.

“Other than that reaction? Will, you went straight to his place after that meeting and now you suddenly know who’s behind this. I’m not an idiot.”

“Maybe I did some research after.” Neither of them are buying it.

“Dude was given the option of asking you anything he wanted and he asked to pet you. Not a hard leap to make.”

Will finds himself sliding down in his seat again, feeling like a whack-a-mole. Maybe if he asks nicely Beverly will beat him in the head with a mallet. “Don’t bring that up either.” His tail starts to twitch across his lap.

“Oh, my god, you _let_ him!” Now Beverly is laughing. “Will, I thought what we had was special, but if you’re going to let just anyone pet you I don’t think I can continue this relationship.”

“He had a good reason!” Will protests. “Just tell me when we get there.”

“Sure thing, catboy.” She punctuates the statement with a mock salute, and Will very deliberately does not punch her in the shoulder.

When they arrive, the small building catches Will off-guard. Most professional magicians are terribly egotistical, residing in garish and ostentatious homes shimmering with enchantments and spells. Before them is a respectable, two-story white building, ivy crawling up the sides and offering colorful flowers. They are maintained with magic, keeping them blooming and healthy in all seasons and stopping them from overwhelming the building. It is the only magic he can sense on the building itself. The interior is similar, shelves full of colorful bottles of basic potions, a soothing aura relaxing all who enter. It makes them feel safe.

It also makes them easier to sell things to, and Will finds himself smiling. He already likes this magician.

A blonde woman, elegant and self-assured, is waiting for them at the counter. “I assume you are Will Graham,” she greets, eyes tracking to his tail.

“Madam Du Maurier, I believe?” Will offers his hand and she accepts it.

“Bedelia is fine,” she amends before turning to Beverly, waiting expectantly.

“Beverly Katz.” She also offers a handshake, this time with a smile. “I’m mostly here for moral support.”

Bedelia nods. “We can move to the back, if you would prefer,” she offers, and Will quickly takes her up on it.

The back feels nothing like the front of the shop had. It’s obvious that her real goods reside here, powerful spells and enchantments that not just anyone can purchase. Will is led to the center of the room, a clearer space, and pulls off his beanie to reveal his ears. “Is it just the tail and ears?” the witch asks, leaning forward to get a closer look. He tilts his head away unconsciously.

Will shakes his head and opens his mouth, revealing his elongated and pointed canines. _Felines now, I suppose,_ he thinks to himself dryly. The sight causes Bedelia to frown, which is not a promising start. “Any ideas?” Will asks.

“May I?” Bedelia asks from behind him, clearly talking about his tail. Will nods and she picks it up, humming thoughtfully. “With a normal transformation spell, the added features feel different than the rest of the body. They carry the magic of the spell itself, and none of what the body produces on its own.” She drops the tail gently. “These don’t.”

Near the door, Beverly shoots him a concerned look. “That’s not a good sign,” Will forces out through gritted teeth. “Does it have any sign of an expiration date?”

“I’m afraid not. Unless you find a way to reverse it, I find it unlikely that they will vanish on their own. Do you know what the spell was?”

Will’s ears are drooping, and he is staring at the floor. “Sort of. It was- it was a ritual, but the caster… modified a catalyst.”

Bedelia’s eyes sharpen. “Could you provide the spellbook? If it is a ritual there is likely nothing to be done, but it does not hurt to take a look.”

What Will says next is muffled between his hands, and Bedelia has to ask him to repeat himself. “I burned it.” He looks up, and she is frowning at him.

“That was profoundly unwise,” she chides him. “At the very least, could you reproduce it for me?”

“He probably can,” Will mutters. “I’ll ask him to. I- I’m stuck like this, aren’t I. Forever.”

“While I cannot say for certain,” Bedelia begins, choosing her words carefully, “it seems likely.”

“Fuck,” Will hisses. “This is the last fucking thing I needed.”

“Beverly.” Bedelia calls out to the other woman, somewhat unexpectedly. “I would like to speak to Will alone, if you do not mind.”

“Sure thing,” Beverly answers, voice tight. “Want me to tell Jack?”

“Yeah. Please.” Will doesn’t think he’s up for that conversation, not right now. Probably not ever. She leaves, and Bedelia waits until she hears the front door close before speaking.

“Tilt your chin up, please,” she asks, and Will does. A finger presses against the beginnings of a beard on his jaw, and Will hisses, actually hisses this time, and jerks his head away.

“S-Sorry,” he chokes out, surprised by his own reaction.

“Hmm. I believe your facial hair may function in much the same way a cat’s whiskers would.”

“You’re joking.” Will’s mouth has dropped open in a gape- it just seems a little _too_ ridiculous. Bedelia moves her hand further upwards, towards his eyebrows, very obviously telegraphing her movements. She never gets closer to his eyebrows than a centimeter away, because his entire body leans away from her touch as she approaches, ending with him bent so far backwards that he’s in serious danger of falling over. “I’m not shaving my eyebrows off,” he protests, but it sounds weak to them both.

“I wouldn’t recommend you shave anything,” Bedelia corrects mildly, taking steps back and allowing Will to right himself. “It may prove fruitful to experiment until you find a length of facial hair that neither distresses nor impedes you.”

“Noted.” Will shoves his beanie down over his ears again, tail twitching angrily behind him. “Thank you for your help. I’ll bring you the ritual as soon as I am able to.”

“Will.” Bedelia’s voice is commanding, and his eyes snap up to meet hers. “You are likely aware, but any transformation spell, ritual or otherwise, will automatically fail if the target is not willing.”

Will bristles, lip curled up in a sneer, the fur on his tail standing up and puffing outwards. “I did not consent to this,” he growls, hackles raised. He knew, he had always known, but he refused to even consider that information as relevant, this was an unprecedented case, nothing like this had ever happened before, the rules could be different-

“Perhaps you only did not consent to this specifically. There is a difference between asking for and being unconditionally accepting of change, and it would serve you to be aware of this moving forwards, and as you examine your relationship with the person who changed you in this manner.”

Will says nothing, only snarls, and stomps out of the shop without a second thought.

Jack gives him a week off, to adjust to everything, both mentally and physically. Will cuts a hole in all his sweat pants for his tail and shaves everything but his eyebrows the moment he returns home and almost immediately regrets it, stumbling around like he’s drunk and tripping over his own feet. At one point he even walks into the wall but all pain is forgotten when Winston, blessed Winston, approaches him carefully. He had always been protective of Will and it seems that protectiveness has overridden his fear. Will gathers the dog up and spends a long time petting his soft fur, feeling the dog’s tense form slowly relax into him until finally, _finally_ his tail begins to wag. One by one, the rest of his pack warms back up to him, once Winston had demonstrated he was still safe. He even catches Buster playing with his tail, and Winston develops a habit of licking the underside of his tail clean where it drags along the ground. 

He doesn’t want to speak to Hannibal, not after Bedelia had pried out the thoughts he was trying to avoid, but an unusual problem presents itself and he can think of no one better to ask; his tail, once wonderfully soft, is getting ragged.

Hannibal looks _appalled_ when he sees it. “You cannot wash your fur the same way you wash your hair, Will,” he chastises, and Will ignores the way it makes him feel to hear someone talk about _his_ fur. 

“I’ve tried everything I have,” Will says, miserable. “Even the dog shampoo.”

“How are your ears faring?” Hannibal moves to check, to brush away Will’s curls and expose them, but Will hops backwards. His stubble has solidified into a beard, not particularly long but undeniable in its nature.

“Sorry, not feeling well, ears are fine please focus on the tail?” His tail is swishing back and forth now, and he knows Buster will be watching it carefully.

Hannibal raises an eyebrow at him but does not press the matter. “ _Your_ tail, Will, please. You must accept that these are now a part of you.”

“Yeah, sure, my tail, whatever. What can I do?”

“I have some ideas of products that may help, if you do not mind accompanying me to the store. We can bring the copy of the ritual you asked for to the witch on our way.”

Will nods, and he hopes Hannibal doesn’t read too much into the way he leans as far away from Hannibal as possible during the car ride over. Stationary objects are more tolerable after the initial shock of discovery, and he has he face nearly pressed into the window as they drive. Hannibal, graciously, offers to take the ritual in himself.

“I did not realize your expert would be Bedelia,” he says in way of greeting as he slides back into the Bentley.

It was unsurprising news to learn, all things considered. The two had similar mannerisms and personalities, and Will could easily see them getting along. “Of course you know Bedelia,” Will mutters into the glass.

“She said something similar when she realized why I was there,” Hannibal muses, and Will turns to look at him. He sees the words clearly; _of course you’re the one that’s behind this._ "You seem to be in dire need of pants. I can see about getting ones custom made, for your tail." Will's only response is a quiet noise of agreement.

Hannibal takes them to a smaller, expensive store, empty other than themselves. Will is dropped back at his house with an armful of products and explicit instructions, and by the time he returns to work his tail has regained its soft, glamorous sheen.

Only three days after his return, Will finds himself staring at a body. She’s strung up, arms held behind her with thin wire that cuts through her dead flesh, the skin around her eyes pinned away to reveal the entirety of the organs, fogged with death. He turns to Hannibal standing beside him. “Can you ground me?” he asks.

People, Will had no trouble reading, and objects were just as easy, though they gave less. Dead people, he found, carried a real danger of pulling him away from reality entirely, leaving him drifting away for hours until someone noticed and pulled him back. Having a physical connection to the real world helped him avoid this, and Hannibal had always been more than happy to provide. Now, the man places his hand on Will’s shoulder, Will closes his eyes, and when they open once more they are a solid, shining blue.

_See, it whispers, see, can you see? I’m always watching, but none of you can see, so I have no choice but to help. Thank you, the body sobs, for finally gifting me this, allowing me to understand, allowing me to- Will sees it then, amidst the swirling thoughts, the fragments left in death, the signature of another, and when he pulls it all he feels is see, see, see-_

He refocuses, feels the physical hand on him, carding through the curls at the base of his neck, it feels so pleasant, his head is tilted forwards to allow Hannibal access, and he’s _fucking purring._

Will has never slapped someone’s hand away so quickly. “Fuck you,” he hisses, ears back. “The killer is nearby, somewhere he can watch, maybe-” He walks quickly to a window, sees a man across the street, feels the chorus of _see, see, see,_ and runs out of the building before anyone can stop him. He crosses the street in seconds but the man can obviously tell he has been spotted and Will just barely has time to see the man crumple something in his fist, feel the curls of magic before the killer is soaring through the air, landing gracefully on the top of the tall brick building. Will growls- he has told Jack so many times that they need someone on the team who can use magic, _no he doesn’t count,_ but now that he looks closer the brick is old and jagged, plenty of handholds. He reaches out, fits his fingers easily in the cracks, hears Jack calling his name right behind him, and then he starts to climb.

It’s startlingly easy, and he can feel his tail stretching out behind him, rotating and moving to keep him steady as he climbs. The killer is still on top of the building when he reaches it, mouth hanging open in shock, and Will is on him in seconds, twisting his arms behind his back and cuffing him.

Several minutes later the rest of the team spills out of the top of the stairwell. Jack is the first to speak. “Will, what the hell was that?”

Will shrugs. His tail is swishing back and forth, excitement and adrenaline coursing through him. “He was going to get away and the building seemed climbable.”

“You climbed _five stories_ straight up the side of a building.” Beverly is gaping at him. “You’re like a superhero or something.”

“Snow leopards live on sheer, rocky cliff faces,” Hannibal provides, somewhat breathless, though not from exertion. “They are experts at navigating perilous climbs.”

“What the _fuck_ ,” Beverly repeats.

“He-” Will pries the man’s clenched fist open and retrieves a crushed piece of origami. “Someone cast this spell for him, the one that let him jump up the side of the building. We need to track down who, see if they can tell us more about this guy.”

Jack nods. “You can work on that while we process him.”

Then- something catches Will’s eye, far away, five or six buildings down across the street. A flash of fiery, curling hair. “Oh god dammit,” he mutters.

The article is published before the end of the day, complete with a video ( _video,_ the one time Freddie Lounds thought to bring a _fucking camcorder_ ), and then everything goes to shit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit shorter, sorry. It's also the last of the stuff that feels a bit... awkward, to me. I truly had no idea where any of this was going for a while, though it did start to sort of... form, as I got to here, I guess. Anyways I'm glad everyone likes catboy Will as much as I do

The first thing he does is call Alana.

That’s not entirely true- the first thing he does is get roaringly drunk the night before, wake in a crumpled pile on the floor surrounded by dogs, and shower with his eyes closed. _Then_ he calls Alana.

She is more than happy to help him set up wards, though they disagree on how exactly they should behave. Will is more or less at her mercy here since he cannot set them up himself; he is aggressively mediocre at any kind of magic that isn’t his own natural seer-like power, and the longer it takes to create said spell the worse and worse at it he becomes. She is recommending something milder, like a spell that gently guides people away if they approach, while he continues to ask if it would be possible to set up a spell that automatically sets somebody on fire if they have red hair. In the end, they compromise. His land is enchanted to cause everyone that approaches his home to forget what they were doing, realize nothing is here for them, and leave.

Conveniently, he can program exceptions to the spell, like it’s some sort of coded gate and not a highly complex magical barrier. Alana is the first, followed by Hannibal (who brings some curiously modified and expensive looking jeans with him), then Jack, Beverly, Brian and Jimmy all at once. Jack is frowning at him as he explains the barriers. “What happens if you need to call an ambulance?”

“I can deactivate it temporarily,” Will explains.

“And if you’re unconscious?”

Will shrugs. “Guess I’ll call one of you instead.”

Jack still does not look pleased. “It seems… excessive,” he says slowly.

“It’s not,” Alana says sharply, startling the sour-faced man. “Freddie didn’t quite catch on to what she filmed-”

“FBI’s favorite weapon given some upgrades,” Will mutters, repeating the clumsy headline back to everyone.

“-but his ears are in clear view, and anyone with enough knowledge can put two and two together,” she finished. “Freddie is probably writing a follow-up article as we speak. There are people who would pay a very, very large amount of money for something like this, and word spreads quickly in the magical community.”

The frown doesn’t vanish, but Jack seems somewhat placated. He leaves shortly, along with Price and Zeller (who has been avoiding WIll’s gaze for quite some time), but Beverly hesitates after Hannibal offers to make them all lunch. She stays once he clarifies that he will be cooking with his own ingredients and not the stale tortilla chips and canned soup that currently reside in Will’s cabinets.

Will, Alana and Beverly are throwing sticks for the dogs while Hannibal works his own version of magic. “How well does this thing work?” Beverly asks, gesturing vaguely as if the barrier had a physical form.

“A really dedicated or powerful magician could get through it, but it will turn almost everyone away.” Alana is bent over, trying to free a stick from in between Harley’s jaws, who doesn’t seem particularly interested in relinquishing it.

“It’ll keep out Freddie Lounds,” Will scowls. “If anyone is strong enough to get through, well, wizards aren’t bulletproof.” Alana scowls at him, but Beverly laughs, and Will holds his hands up in mock surrender. “I won’t shoot anyone, promise.”

“You could probably just bite them,” Beverly suggests, holding her two pointer fingers down in front of her lips, mimicking fangs.

“God no,” Will groans, tilting his head back. “Lounds would have a field day with that. ‘Rabid FBI Beast in Need of Putting Down?’” 

“Lunch will be ready shortly,” Hannibal calls out to them from the doorway. They pile back inside, a sea of dogs with them, and Hannibal watches as Winston carefully grooms the underside of Will’s tail. “Your pack seems to have adapted quickly,” he points out with a smile.

Will nods. “I think they realized I wasn’t some apex predator when I walked into a wall last week.” Beverly laughs, Alana looks concerned, and Hannibal looks… calculating. For not the first time since they had met, Will wants to use his power to peek inside and see just what the man was piecing together. It passes, they sit, and Hannibal serves them lunch. 

“Dhansak,” he explains, waving a hand elegantly over their plates. “A popular Indian dish comprised of a meat cooked with various vegetables, served with caramelized rice.”

Suddenly, Will finds that he is starving, and tucks in as soon as it is considered polite to do so. The meat is tender, mild, and feels like heaven on his tongue. He makes a noise of appreciation. “This is incredible,” he compliments, once he has swallowed his mouthful. “What kind of meat is this?”

“Goat,” Hannibal answers.

Will can feel the displeasure radiating off of Alana, not at the food, but at another person. He can’t hide the way his ears flick towards her, though he keeps his face forwards. “That reminds me of something, actually,” she says pleasantly. “Hannibal, could I speak to you privately after lunch?”

“Of course,” he agrees. Beverly glances between the two people, raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

All of them clear their plates, which Will and Beverly carry back into the kitchen to wash. Alana and Hannibal step outside, far away, to begin their conversation. Will can hear every word.

_“You can’t experiment on him, Hannibal,” Alana chastises._ Will’s ears twitch down, then back up so he can continue listening. He had a feeling, but wasn’t sure how he felt to learn that it was accurate after all.

“What-” Beverly begins to speak, but Will shushes her. Her eyes go wide, and she nods.

Will catches the tail end of Hannibal’s reply. _“-not experimenting, as you put it.” A huff. “He has proven to have taken on characteristics of the animal. I simply thought it may be something he would enjoy.”_

“He fed me goat on purpose,” Will whispers to Beverly. The least he can do is keep her in the loop of what’s happening. “I’m sure it makes up the majority of a snow leopard’s diet.” She snorts.

_“-inappropriate,”_ he hears from Alana, missing the first half. _“He needs our support, not our curiosity.”_

_“Am I not allowed to dote on him, then?”_ Will turns red. Why the _hell_ had Hannibal said _that?_ He can feel Beverly’s eyes boring into his skull.

_“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Alana mutters. “You need to be doing this as a friend, not a professional.”_

_“I assure you, I have never looked at him as a professional.”_

It could have been an insult, considering how they met, but the lilt of Hannibal’s voice reveals his true meaning. Will wonders if he can jump out a window. “Would it be weird if I left before they got back?”

“Will, what the fuck are they saying?”

_“-a separate issue,”_ he catches Alana say. _“I am well aware of your fascination with him, but he trusts you despite it, and I need you to promise you won’t abuse that trust.”_

_“You must know I would never dream of doing anything he did not want from me.”_

“She definitely doesn’t know he’s the one who did this,” Will relays.

“Okay but before that-” Will shushes her again.

_“-petting him at crime scenes?”_

“Will, you’re a violent shade of red at this point, you can’t pretend that there isn’t stuff you aren’t-”

_“-purring,” Hannibal ends, unbelievably smug._

_“Hannibal,” Alana replies, words clipped. “I realize this is an unusual feeling for you, but don’t play around with him. This has only gotten worse since he changed. Either be his friend or-”_

_Hannibal wants to sleep with me,_ Will realizes with a start. He hears a splash followed by a clattering, turns and sees Beverly openly gaping at him, and realizes he actually said those words _out loud._ “I, uh-”

“They’re coming back,” she hisses, recovering quickly, and they resume washing the dishes as if they had never stopped.

“I need to get going, Will.” The words are calm and her face is neutral, but Will can feel the sharp curls of irritation. “The wards should be fine on their own, but please contact me if you have any issues.

“And I have patients to see to.” A surge of relief shoots through Will, as he has neither the energy to pretend he heard nothing nor the mental capacity to come up with a viable reason to make Hannibal leave while Beverly stays. “If you do not mind holding on to my dishes, as you seem to still be in the process of washing them, I can pick them up later.”

Will swallows and feels his throat click. “Yes, that’s fine. Thank you both for all of your help.”

“Of course,” Alana says softly, giving Will a brief hug. Hannibal only puts his hand on Will’s shoulder, but the look he gives him, he knows how well Will can hear if he tries, he _knew Will could hear their conversation-_

“Will.” Beverly calls his name, and he comes back to himself. It’s just the two of them standing in his kitchen.

Will makes a beeline for the cabinet where he stores his liquor and pulls out a nearly full bottle of whiskey, along with two glasses.

“It’s like two in the afternoon,” Beverly frowns.

“You got places to be?” She shakes her head. “Good, because based on that conversation Hannibal has wanted to fuck me since he met me, and oh, he knew I was listening that _entire time_.”

“Screw the dishes,” she chirps, “let’s get drunk.”

They do just that. Will is sitting cross-legged on his bed, tail swishing sporadically behind him, and Beverly is collapsed into a chair across the room. “I’m saying-” she stops, takes another drink, and continues. “I’m _saying._ You’ve known him for what, a year?”

“Sure,” Will agrees.

“Then why the hell is he bringing this up now?” She frowns, comically slow. “And why so _weird?_ ”

“Respecting my agency.” Will’s glass is empty, so he just grabs the bottle and takes a drink directly out of that. “I know, ball’s in my court. He won’t- won’t do anything different if I don’t.”

“Why _now_?” she repeats.

“He really.” Will pauses, weighs the words in his mind before speaking. “Bev. He _really_ likes the cat stuff.”

She absolutely howls with laughter. “Doctor Lecter has a thing for catboys!” she cries gleefully. 

“Shut up,” Will hisses. “Less calling me a catboy, more drinking.”

“You should meow next time you see him, see if he has a heart attack.” Will throws a pillow at her, and she only laughs harder.

By the end of the week, Jack has lost all reservations about how truly serious the situation with Will may be. Every day he arrives at Quantico he is instantly swarmed with reporters and magicians asking him the same questions over and over, all of which he ignores until he is safely inside the building. It gets bad enough that Jack actually gives him his own parking spot right by the building entrance, close enough that he can sometimes make it inside before anyone even has time to approach him. An unfortunate side effect of all this unwanted attention is that every time Jack actually needs Will at a crime scene, they have to sneak him out, beanie pulled down over his ears and tail stuffed awkwardly into his pants.

The custom jeans (and tailored slacks because Hannibal never does anything halfway, though Will is now somewhat unsettled by the knowledge that Hannibal apparently knows his measurements) are far too tight, so Will begins bringing sweatpants to work and wears them to the scenes. It looks horrendously unprofessional and Hannibal’s mouth curls in distaste every time he sees it, but it’s not like the bodies are about to complain.

Especially this one. They’re in a wide field streaked red, spread over what seems like an impossibly large area, and there are pieces of the body strewn about as if they had been ripped to pieces by a wild animal. He knows it wasn’t an animal, can feel the tendrils of magic that prove it. “This is gonna be rough,” Will sighs, eyes tracking over the shredded lumps of flesh. “I’m not even sure I’ll be able to recognize it as human.”

“Do you believe the risk is too great?” Hannibal stands beside him, because as awkward as Will has grown around him recently, he’s still the best anchor he’s ever had.

“Doesn’t matter,” Will murmurs. “I-” He falters. He’s given Hannibal this permission before, often does when there are multiple bodies, but now it feels… charged. “Anything, alright? Anything you need to do.”

Hannibal stills for a moment, but eventually he nods. He places his broad hand on Will’s shoulder and then the empath closes his eyes, opens them, and only sees red.

_Meat, it’s all just meat, prey, hunt, chase, rend, tear- they run, I must chase, it’s chasing me, oh god I’m going to die, lead it away from the camp at least, protect him, it hurts hurts hurts hurts-_

Will loses himself. His eyes glass over, his body sways, his world resolves itself into an endless cycle of blood and the rending of flesh and a powerful, animalistic _hunger._ He is the body, bodies, the hunter, the animal stalking them and pouncing, biting, tearing, devouring. Deep within himself, he knows that this is right, this was how he was meant to be, unchained and feral, the wildness roaring out of him. They are prey, nothing more, but it hurts so fucking much, the way his skin falls to ribbons around him, everything is stifling and confined, he wants to tear it out, release it, finally be free.

The pain, his world, dulls and fades into a pleasant tingling. His feet are cold, the end of his tail is cold where it was resting on the frigid ground. Two sounds materialize- a steady, constant whispering, words he does not know, and a deep, soothing rumbling he slowly realizes he is producing himself. He finally returns, and doesn’t even have it in himself to be horrified at the position he finds himself in, and the fact that he appears to once again be purring.

He’s tucked into Hannibal’s shoulder, facing away from the body, unsurprised to feel the hand scratching gently at the base of his skull, the lips so close to his ear they’re nearly touching, murmuring in another language. What he did not expect was the second hand, tucked neatly underneath his shirt and massaging right above the spot where his tail connects to his body, his own hands curled up and clinging to Hannibal’s jacket, and how utterly boneless and calm he feels.

“Are you back, Will?” Hannibal asks, voice low and sweet.

“I-I’m sorry,” Will chokes out, because it’s all he can.

“Do not apologize,” comes the fierce reply. “Never apologize.”

Will pulls away, shaking, and Hannibal allows him to. His hat is gone, laying in the dirt from what he can tell, and his tail hangs out of his pants behind him. They had both been concealed when he started. “How did-”

“You were very distressed,” Hannibal explains, returning to neutral. His eyes betray him. “Pulled the hat off yourself, but struggled with your tail, so I extracted it for you.”

He does _not_ want to think about Hannibal shoving a hand down the back of his pants to pull the appendage out, and when he shivers, he hopes Hannibal thinks it’s because of the cold. “Where’s Jack?’ he asks. “It’s two bodies.”

Hannibal draws the team back. All of them can tell that Will lost himself, but all of them have the tact not to bring it up. He relays what information he was able to glean about the scene itself before he takes the offered escape and returns to Quantico to begin on the profile of the killer.

The spot on his lower back where Hannibal had touched him burns like a brand, and he focuses on that, because the alternative is confronting the fact that then he woke, his very first instinct was to bite.

Will is hunched over a scattering of papers in his office, filled with cramped handwriting and seemingly dropped at random. They essentially were, as the endless stream of words that flew out of him after looking at scenes was close to illegible to anyone else, but he always needed to get it all out and recorded before he refined it into a state where it could be shared with others. It was not uncommon for even him to not fully understand what he had written, and often he had to pour through his own thoughts and figure out what he saw that was important and what he saw that was simply… abstract emotion, or contamination bleeding in from nearby. This time, it was proving difficult, and he is considering leaving it for the night and coming back after getting a solid five hours of sleep when someone knocks on the doorframe.

His door is open, as always, because most people either knew to avoid the room or would have blown through a closed door anyways. Few people took the time to knock, so he already knows it will be Hannibal when he looks up. The other man looks strangely tired, hair askew, concern of all things seeping out of him. Will frowns. “Are you okay?”

At that, Hannibal laughs, though there’s no real mirth behind it. “I came to ask you that very question. May I come in?”

Will nods, and Hannibal takes the seat across from him at the desk. He glances over the papers- Hannibal is one of the only people that has seen these raw thoughts, and Will does not stop him when he reaches for one and scans its contents. “The killer undoubtedly was using a transformation spell,” Will begins, rubbing his chin. “They- he- thinks that it should be his natural state, bestial and wild.” Hannibal is pulling together more and more pages, frown deepening as he reads their contents, but Will continues as if nothing was happening. “He saw them as prey. It’s likely he ate portions of them, as it’s what the animal would have done. He will definitely kill again if we don’t catch him, but transformation spells are absurdly expensive, so either he’s rich or there will be a significant break while he saves up the money needed to purchase another one.”

“Will.” When the man in question finally looks at Hannibal, it is barely in time to see him run a hand through his hair, upsetting what remains of the carefully built hairstyle. Will almost laughs; that’s _his_ signature nervous gesture, and he wonders if Hannibal has picked it up from him or if it was just something that they shared. Hannibal says nothing else, just turns the pages back towards Will, where he sees _pain_ and _blood_ and _meat meat meat._

To his credit, Will winces. He knows what these papers look like to other people, and this one is… especially alarming, to put it mildly. “I imagine getting ripped apart is pretty painful,” he shrugs, trying to brush it off.

“You were gone for nearly an hour.”

Ah. Will stiffens, the strange concern Hannibal was displaying suddenly making sense. “I’ve drifted farther,” he says casually, and that was _not_ the right thing to say because now the concern has increased substantially. He forgets, often, how what is normal to him can be quite worrying to everyone else.

“Not around me.” From anyone else the statement would have come off as cocky, but Hannibal is only stating the truth. Will still hasn’t quite been able to figure out why, but Hannibal does such an incredible job grounding him that he can’t quite believe it’s possible. 

“Not around you,” Will sighs. He wonders what would have happened three years ago if Hannibal had been there, and then Hannibal is giving him a curious look because he _said it out loud again._ “I’ve got to stop doing that,” Will groans, tail twitching in annoyance.

“What happened three years ago?”

“It’s just going to make you anxious, and I’d rather not talk about it here.” Not where someone could overhear.

Hannibal cocks his head the way he does when he is about to suggest something he expects Will will be resistant to. “I still need to collect my dishes,” he says slowly.

Will snorts. “You itching to get back to Baltimore at four in the morning?” Hannibal just keeps looking at him until he finally relents. “All right, fine, let’s go back to my place. I need to get back to let the dogs out anyways.”

Again, they drive separately, Will arriving slightly before Hannibal. He is ushering the dogs back inside when the familiar Bentley pulls up, Hannibal emerging elegantly despite the diverted dog swarm that is rushing around his legs. Will whistles once, sharp, and the dogs pile into the house, two men close behind.

Hannibal, unsurprisingly, insists on making them something to eat. Luckily Will had just gotten groceries the other day and the chef soon has simple but fancy sandwiches made for the both of them, making liberal use of the goat cheese Will had picked up on a whim. They taste amazing.

“Three years ago,” Hannibal picks up once they have eaten, like the conversation hadn’t had an hour long break in between.

“You’re not going to like this,” Will warns, “but I used to forgo anchors entirely until after this happened. Didn’t think I needed them, thought I could always come back to myself on my own.”

“You are correct,” Hannibal says, voice tight. “I do not like that.”

Will, somewhat suddenly, laughs. “Trust me, I’ve heard enough of this from Alana. I thought she’d lord it over me, use this as _the_ example of why I should listen to her advice, but she was honestly too terrified by the whole experience to ever take advantage.” Will sighs. “I’m getting off track, sorry. It was a missing person’s case, but they feared the worst so we were brought on board. I found them, stitched together in a grain silo, must have been close to fifty people. No one- what I have is unusual, no one really knows how I’ll react to anything, so they left me alone. Next thing I remember was waking up in a bed in the hospital.”

Beside him at the table, Hannibal sucks in a breath through his teeth, and Will smiles bitterly. “To me, it was like almost no time had passed. I don’t remember much of what I saw. The first clear memory I have is of Beverly’s voice, telling me that if I died because of something stupid like this she’d never forgive me.”

“How long were you gone for?”

“Twenty days,” Will answers, looking away so he at least doesn’t have to _see_ Hannibal’s reaction. “My body was slowly shutting down, to the point where near the end they could only keep me alive with machines. I’m not sure what brought me back, only that they brought in plenty of experts and nothing really seemed to- to work.” He swallows, ears drooping, his entire body slumping. “Everyone was there when I woke up,” he says, voice quiet. “I think they had all come because they were expecting me to die.”

A hand cards through his hair, just behind his ear, scratching gently. Will closes his eyes and tilts his head, tilting his face away from Hannibal but pushing his head closer, encouraging. His hand remains there, massaging and petting, until Will’s posture has finally returned. “I too would have been upset if you had died there,” Hannibal smiles, pulling his hand away.

“You sound like Beverly,” Will laughs. “I didn’t know her very well, before… that. She was pretty upset for some reason.”

“A coworker dying is a very upsetting event.” Hannibal’s smile grows teeth, becomes skewed. “Or perhaps she recognizes what a terrible loss for the world it would be if you were no longer in it.”

Will coughs, knows his face is reddening but ignores it. “Anyways, I use anchors now. I used Beverly before I met you, still do if you’re not there. I tried Jack once, actually.” He grimaces. “It didn’t go well.”

“What if both Katz and myself are not available?”

It was a fair question. Will glances over to his dogs, eyes landing on a brindled coat, watching the dog’s chest rise and fall with the deep breaths of sleep. Would Hannibal find it amusing? “I use Winston,” he admits. “He’s legally a service animal, actually. Grounding tool. Lots of empaths have them.”

“But you are not most empaths.”

Inside, Will is warring with himself. Telling someone could be incredibly dangerous, but he feels so _safe_ around Hannibal, so relaxed and willing to spill his secrets. He makes his decision. “I don’t think Winston is a dog.”

The look Hannibal gives him is somewhat comical, a mixture of _of course he’s a dog_ and genuine curiosity. “Elaborate,” is all he says.

“I- look, I know this probably sounds crazy. I picked him up off the side of the road one night, covered in what I thought was mud and obviously injured. He… didn’t look like he does now.” Winston is awake now, head up and watching Will speak, eyes far more intelligent than they should have been. “It was something with four legs but they were all different lengths, and I couldn’t find a head in all that mess. I just took him home and washed him. The stuff that sloughed off of him was sort of… like tar, and after washing it away I was left with Winston.” Will jerks a thumb over to the dog, who has not blinked in quite some time.

Hannibal is regarding him with a strange expression. “Did you not consider that taking an unknown creature into your home may have been dangerous?”

Will, predictably, shrugs. “It was hurt,” he says simply. “You… please don’t tell anyone what I just told you. I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

“Of course not,” Hannibal assures, face softening minutely. Over by the fire, Winston lays his head back down and soon falls back asleep. “Do you have any idea what his true nature may be?”

“Not the slightest. Don’t particularly care, though.” He glances at his clock and winces. They had been talking for quite some time, and it was past three in the morning. “Jesus, it got late.”

“Ah, so it has. I should be going, I’m afraid.”

Later, Will blames it on his exhaustion, and the fact that Hannibal would have to drive over an hour back to Baltimore only for them to reconvene back at Quantico mere hours later. It seemed pointless and excessive. “You can crash here, if you want,” he offers. “If you don’t mind the dogs. I can take the couch.”

Hannibal actually looks somewhat taken aback at the offer, clearly not expecting it. “I do not want you getting inadequate rest on the couch after what has happened.” It isn’t quite a refusal.

Later, Will tries to blame _this_ offer on fatigue and finds that he cannot. “Well,” he says slowly, “the bed is pretty large.” It’s large so there’s room for all the dogs, but he doesn’t tell Hannibal that.

The man looks at him sharply, and Will realizes that Hannibal has made his intentions very clear, and he has yet to acknowledge or respond. “If it would not make you uncomfortable.”

_In for a penny,_ Will thinks to himself dryly. “I think I’ll survive.”

When he falls asleep, they are a respectable distance apart, facing away from each other. He sleeps well, and when he wakes, Will finds that he has rolled over and is tucked into Hannibal’s chest, body curled up, tail draped somewhere over their legs. Hannibal’s large hands are both in his hair, petting and soothing, fingers running reverently over the soft fur of his ears, and he realizes that the other man does not notice he has awoken because his distressingly loud purring is concealing the change in his breathing. 

It’s warm and Will is burrowing closer before he notices what he is doing. He hopes to god Hannibal thinks he’s still asleep, because he pretends to be until the alarm goes off and forces him to wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Snow leopards eat whatever they can catch but it does mostly tend to be goat and sheep.](https://www.snowleopard.org/snow-leopard-facts/prey/)
> 
> also I hope no one was expecting Hannibal to be subtle because trust me, he'll be laying it on pretty thick


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for the support and I'm glad everyone is enjoying this!

A week passes with no new kills or further developments in the case, and then Will wakes up with an idea.

He talks to Hannibal first, because the other man will be affected just as much as Will himself. “You intend to use yourself as bait?” The older man doesn’t seem upset, only curious.

Will, however, frowns. “Yeah, but that’s not why I’m talking to you about this. If I talk to the media, it’s going to have to be the truth or very close to it. It won’t reflect well on either of us.”

“I am confident that we can spin this in a way that salvages both our reputations.”

Will huffs. “Alana is going to find out what you did, and she’s  _ not _ going to be happy about it.”

At that, Hannibal flashes him one of those crooked smiles, the kind Will can’t help but return. “Perhaps I deserve to have someone lecture me on my wrongdoings.”

The next step is a small meeting, just Will, Hannibal, Jack and Bedelia, who has agreed to vouch for their story as an expert. She adapts quickly and seems content to go ahead with whatever plan they concoct, but Jack is far more cautious and hesitant to agree. “You told me repeatedly that you didn’t walk to talk to the media,” Jack says, voice flat.

“I still don’t,” Will winces, “but this killer… he considers himself an animal. There’s plenty of rumors flying around about my… physical state, but it’s still sort of an open secret. If we reveal the truth he may approach me about it.”

“You want to be bait.” Jack is considering it, and he doesn’t seem opposed. “Alright, I’m listening.”

“We would want to find a respected outlet, one with enough reach that many people see it. It should get picked up by the rest of the media and run the circuits that way.”

Jack’s eyebrows are knitting together as he thinks. “There’s something else, isn’t there,” he finally says. “Something else that complicates it.”

Gracefully, Hannibal responds. “Anywhere that suits our need will likely employ the use of truth spells to ensure we are not making anything up,” he says smoothly. “It will be revealed that I was the one that changed Will.”

It’s a near thing, but Will manages not to laugh at the way Jack’s mouth hangs open in shock. “This was  _ your _ doing, Lecter?” he manages. “Why?”

“Let’s move past that part,” Will cuts in hastily. Even  _ he _ doesn’t quite know the exact answer to that question, and he has found that he is perfectly content with not knowing. “He was trying to do… something to me, but something went wrong and it ended up like this.”

“It quite obviously crosses a great many ethical boundaries,” Bedelia interjects, speaking for the first time. “While they may have come to terms with the situation, the public will not be so forgiving.”

“You’re okay with this, Will?” Jack sounds doubtful, and he has every right to be.

Will shrugs. “I’m trying not to think too hard about how I feel about it,” he answers honestly. “But the fact of the matter is it wouldn’t have even worked if I wasn’t okay with it.”

His boss doesn’t seem like he’s entirely convinced, but he accepts this for the moment and moves on. “So we need a way to spin this that doesn’t drag Lecter through the mud.”

“Exactly,” Will confirms. “Truth spells are… basic, only stop you from saying things that you know for certain are untrue. It’s pretty easy to talk around them, politicians have been doing so since the dawn of time, and their usefulness depends entirely on the skill of both the interviewer and the interviewee. If we come up with something close enough it should be simple to make it convincing.”

“Hmm.” Jack is clearly turning an idea over in his brain, something that sends a spark of hope through Will because he has so far come up with jack shit. “Du Marier, how much could you fuzz about the spell itself?”

“Ritual,” she corrects. “The fact that I have not seen the original ritual helps a great deal. I can simply speculate and say nearly anything I want.”

“Well, I have an idea then.” Jack folds his arms across his desk, face tight. “Love.”

“Love?” Will repeats back, somewhat stupidly. “You’re gonna have to elaborate a bit there.”

“People will forgive a great deal if it’s done in the name of love,” Jack continues. “If they believe that Lecter did this out of a love-driven desperation, there will be a large number of people who are sympathetic.”

“We can frame the ritual as something more passive,” Bedelia murmurs. “Something to discover the intentions of another, rather than change them entirely.”

Will is drumming his fingers on his thigh, and his tail is swishing behind him. Jack had gotten backless chairs for the building once they learned that Will would not be returning to his previous state, and most rooms had at least one in them. They were surprisingly comfortable. “It could work,” he finally admits. “If I’m receptive to it.”

Bedelia nods. “He accidentally creates a transformation ritual instead, then gets his answer anyways when that succeeds.”

“Could you pretend to be in love with Will?” Jack is looking at Hannibal now, face tense.

“I would argue,” Hannibal begins, and Will very deliberately does not roll his eyes, “that I would not be pretending at all. Will is an important friend, and I love him just as I love Alana, or Bedelia.”

“See?” Will gestures at Hannibal. “He’ll be fine.”

Jack turns back towards Will, eyebrow raised. “And you?”

Will feels Hannibal’s eyes on him, feels them burning like a laser. “I can pretend to be anything.”

They tell Beverly, partly because Will needs  _ someone _ not involved to know, and they throw Hannibal to the wolves to tell Alana. Beverly is the one who finds them a good place to hold the interview (a morning talk show, she suggests, so it is somewhat informal and they focus on the story aspect of it) and has presumably come to tell Will of the final location when she enters Will’s office. “Hey Will, we got you guys on-” She stops mid sentence.

Will glances up from where he had been working on his laptop. “Hmm?” It comes out muffled, because it’s difficult to form proper words when one is holding one’s tail in one’s mouth.

“Will.” Beverly’s eyes are wide, and Will thinks she may be reaching for her phone. “That’s  _ adorable. _ ”

He drops the limb out of his mouth and ducks his head, blushing. “It helps me think,” he says quietly, scratching the back of his skull.

“Don’t let Hannibal see you like that unless you’re looking to make this fake dating scheme a lot less fake,” she laughs. “Maybe don’t let Zeller see either. You might end up in his wallet.”

“Does he really keep photos of his cats in his wallet? I definitely made that part up.”

“Don’t be judgemental, Will, I know you have one of Winston in yours.”

Will throws up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. You were saying something about getting us a spot?”

She nods. “Think ‘Good Morning America’, but for Maryland. It’s perfect.”

“When’s the spot?”

“Week from now,” Beverly answers. “They were eager to take the story but wanted some time to prepare everything, really focus on how to approach this. What’s your exit strategy, anyways?”

“The door, probably.”

Beverly looks profoundly unimpressed. “With the dating thing, asshole. If you’re spinning this as the love story of the century you can’t just suddenly go back to normal once the interview is over.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Will lies. It’s been essentially the  _ only _ thing he’s been thinking about ever since Jack suggested this ruse in the first place. “We’ll figure something out.”

He is not surprised when Beverly sees through his lie immediately. “When this pretend relationship turns into a pretend marriage, make sure you make me your pretend best man, alright?”

Will laments the fact that he has nothing on his desk to throw at Beverly, so he settles for throwing her a look instead. “It’s for work, that’s all.”

“You think Hannibal feels the same way about it?”

The jab makes Will wince. “He wouldn’t have agreed otherwise,” he protests weakly.

“He agreed because he’d probably burn all of his fancy suits if you asked him to,” Beverly huffs. “Look, I know you’re the closest thing to the victim here, but don’t lead him on or anything. You’re better than that.”

“You sound like Alana,” Will groans, and Beverly only laughs.

Will has dinner with Hannibal the night before the spot. On the surface it’s to go over their story once again, but in reality it’s because Will is so nervous that he feels about ready to vibrate out of his skin entirely. His tail is swishing back and forth behind him. “It’s going to be doing that the whole interview,” he mutters after swallowing a shaky bite of his food. It’s rabbit tonight, as delicious as always.

“It will only endear you to the audience,” Hannibal responds. “You are facing your fears in order to set the record straight.”

“I filmed a segment for them earlier today,” Will says out of nowhere. “They wanted video of me climbing and I told Beverly that if they used Lounds’ footage I’d call the whole thing off. Had me go up against a professional rock climber and everything.”

Hannibal shoots him a small smile. “Did you emerge victorious?”

“Easily,” Will answers. “Felt a little bad about it, honestly.”

“You should never feel ashamed of your talents.” It was the sort of thing Hannibal loved to say even long before Will had transformed, but ever since he had only doubled down. “Do you feel sufficiently prepared for tomorrow?”

“I- the story, yeah, that’s fine. I’m not looking forward to being in a room filled with a hundred plus people all focused on me.”

“Is it so different from teaching?”

“Incredibly,” Will sighs. “Students are there to learn. The audience is there to gawk.”

“I shall attempt to redirect them towards myself as often as possible.” It was a half-serious offer, but the way Hannibal’s eyes lit up revealed the teasing nature hidden deep inside. Will laughs.

“You planning on showing up with some animal features of your own?” A thought jars forwards, and Will’s mood instantly drops. He had been trying to think of a way to bring this up for the past week, but every time the thought of mentioning it made him want to heave. Now, there was no more time, and he had to do it. “You probably… you’re probably aware of this, but you might have to talk about-” His mouth snaps shut, and Will looks away.

“About Mischa,” Hannibal finishes, as put-together as ever. “I expect that I will have to.”

Mischa. Will had never heard the name before, but it was obviously the girl the stuffed animal had belonged to. He had thought, briefly, that she may have been Hannibal’s daughter, but the thought of the man with a wife and child was almost comically jarring. A younger sister, more likely. It had happened young if the effects were any indication. “Y-yeah.” Will swallows. “Do you… do you want to tell me? Before I find out tomorrow.”

Hannibal sets down his cutlery and falls silent. “Yes, I think so,” he finally replies, “but it is not a conversation for the dinner table. We will speak in the sitting room after.”

Will nods, and the rest of the meal passes as normal.

Later, after they have cleaned up the table and dishes, they find themselves in the sitting room, a fire roaring in the fireplace, Hannibal with a glass of wine and Will a tumbler of whiskey. “Mischa was my younger sister,” Hannibal begins, without preamble. “Nearly a decade younger than me. We lived in a large home in the forest with our parents.”

“You were close,” Will observed.

“Inseparable. She was a weak child, often ill, and I took care of her.” Hannibal sets his wine aside, only half-empty, and looks into the fire. “Our mother brought her that snow leopard as a gift. I still remember the joy on her face when she saw it.”

Will’s glass is empty, long since drained, and he abandons it on the mantelpiece and moves nearer to Hannibal. He can feel the grief and discomfort rolling off the man in powerful waves, and finds himself standing before him with little active thought. “You don’t have to tell me everything,” he says softly, but Hannibal only shakes his head and continues.

“It was bandits.” His voice is flat, all emotion lost as he speaks. “Disgraced Russian soldiers. We were wealthy and isolated; the perfect targets. Our parents were killed in the robbery. While they were looting, a terrible blizzard began and trapped us all inside the house for a week’s time.”

It was awful- Will could almost see it, felt the combination of terror and rage a young Hannibal had felt at that time. Felt the hopelessness, and sense of failure as he could not protect the one thing he held precious. “She fell ill,” he supplies.

“The robbers kept the rations for themselves. We drank melted snow and slowly starved. I survived, and she did not.”

“Hannibal, I-” Will had no earthly idea what he had been planning on saying, because when he meets Hannibal’s eyes the grief overwhelms him. He closes his eyes to shut it out and collapses to his knees, lays his head on Hannibal’s thigh, tilted away in invitation. Hannibal’s hands are on him immediately, running through his hair and combing out the tangles, running softly over the fur of his ears. He continues his petting until it finally slows and Will feels the negative emotions seeping away. “What happened to them?” Will asks, eyes still closed. “The robbers.”

Hannibal pauses, and what he says next comes out so perfectly rehearsed and without attached emotions that it can only be a lie. “The police arrived after the storm passed, and they were arrested.”

From his spot on the ground, Will blinks his eyes open and turns his head to fix Hannibal with his gaze, chin now resting on the man’s thigh. Hannibal was lying, and quite obviously knows that Will can tell, based on the waiting expression he now wears. It’s bait Will doesn’t feel like he should fall for, not now, so he just makes a noise of agreement before closing his eyes and turning his head back to where it rested before. After a moment, Hannibal’s hands begin to move once more, and Will loses track of how long they sit there silently, by the fire.

Will absolutely cannot control his tail.

They are waiting just offstage for their cue to come forward, the area currently darkened and tucked away behind a series of walls. The combination hides them, though Will has no trouble seeing the alarmingly large audience, and it’s sending his anxiety into overdrive. His tail is swishing behind him so aggressively that they might not need to sweep the area during the nightly cleaning later. “Will,” Hannibal whispers to him, “be calm.”

“Thanks,” Will snaps, “I hadn’t tried that yet.” He sighs. “Sorry. I just-”

“I am aware.” Hannibal only sounds faintly amused, but he lifts the hand closer to the empath and runs his fingers over his ear, soothing. It’s painfully obvious how badly he wants to touch Will’s hair as well, but it has been something close to tamed and ruining it now isn’t an option. Will allows the contact, it fits in nicely with their story, and it is somewhat soothing despite everything. 

Will wonders if he started something, when he silently offered Hannibal his head the night previous. He wonders if he cares.

The aide tells them to get ready, and Will straightens, corrects his posture, and becomes someone else. The lights turn on and they walk onto the stage amidst applause. Will’s ears are twitching, unsure where to focus when surrounded by sound, and while his tail is indeed still flitting back and forth, it’s far less noticeable.

Both of the hosts are dressed, somehow, both formally and casually. Will is dressed like he is about to give a lecture, and Hannibal, predictably, is in a full three-piece suit that was equal parts elegant and offensive. At least it isn’t spotted.

Introductions fly by, Will responding automatically but enthusiastically. He’s trying to block out the audience entirely, but it was difficult enough when it was just his empathy pulling their emotions towards him. With the addition of a cavalcade of sounds and scents on top of that, it is not a comfortable experience. One of the hosts- Mary, which had to be a stage name because  _ Mary of Maryland Sunrise!  _ was just too perfect to be a coincidence- notices. “Mr Graham, you seem somewhat agitated. Is everything alright?”

It was a segue, thankfully, and Will plays into it easily. “I’m sorry,” he laughs, grinning somewhat nervously. “This many people can be a bit… overwhelming.”

“Your senses, you mean?” the second host (Robert? Was his name Robert?) clarifies, and Will nods. “How are your senses different now, after you changed?”

“Enhanced, mostly. Would you like a demonstration?” This was scripted, obviously, though Will didn’t have much of a problem with doing a few party tricks. He knew that Hannibal thought it to be in poor taste, but it was important to drive home how real this all was. The audience is somewhat involved in this segment; Will guesses how much change someone has in their change purse just by listening to them shake it, he points out what animals various people in the audience own, and is currently trying to read a sign someone is attempting to hold up in the dark. “I- I’m sorry, could you raise it a bit higher?” he asks, laughing. “I can’t see  _ through  _ people, you know.” The audience laughs, and even Hannibal beside him smiles as he reads what is written on the sign out loud. They play the video from the climbing gym next, and then Bedelia is brought out and the real meat of the story begins.

“So you do believe that this is permanent?” Mary asks, and Bedelia nods.

“There is no precedent so it is difficult to say. I strongly believe that this is a change that will not disappear on its own.”

“Is it something that could be reversed?” It’s Robert asking this time, easily picking up where his co-host left off.

“Unlikely,” Bedelia answers. “It is the result of a ritual, and because of all the unique factors that created it, the chances of finding a way to reverse it are equally slim.” 

“And what were those unique factors?”

Beside Will, Hannibal sighs, as if he is steeling himself to say something that is deeply upsetting to him. It’s so fake it borders on theatrical, and Will concentrates on keeping a straight face. “I believe that I am best suited to tell this part of the story,” he begins, “as the one who performed the ritual was me.”

Gasps, from the audience and the hosts who pretend to look shocked quite convincingly. Will holds out his hand for support, like a good partner would, and Hannibal takes it a little bit too quickly for how nervous he is supposed to be. No one seems to notice. “Please understand…” Hannibal hesitates here, like he is struggling with the words. “What I have done is a major breach of trust. I was driven to it out of desperation, but that does not justify my actions. If I could go back in time and stop myself from doing this, I would without hesitation.”

It’s even harder for Will not to laugh here, as he is unsure if Hannibal is even aware of the concept of regret. He can feel smatterings of compassion from the audience, infrequent but present, and he pulls from these to feed his own countenance. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, reassuring, understanding. More of the audience softens at his blatant display of support and acceptance. Will runs his thumb over Hannibal’s hand, aiming for soothing but apparently hitting ‘distracting’ instead if the way Hannibal squeezes his hand sharply is any indication.

Mary steps in to give this confession structure. “You said you were driven to it,” she asks kindly, leaning forward slightly. “By what?”

Hannibal looks up now, meets her eyes, gives her a sad smile. Will makes a mental note to ask if he’s taken acting lessons later. “Love,” he says simply.

Just like that, the entire audience relaxes. The majority are wary but no longer outraged, with some already having slid straight into acceptance. Jack could not have been more correct in his assessment. The hosts smile, and now Robert speaks.

“Would you tell us the story?”

“It is quite melodramatic,” Hannibal offers as a token protest.

“I’m sure the audience wants to hear it, and we certainly do as well!” Robert laughs lightly, and the audience cheers in agreement, while Hannibal smiles and agrees. “Why don’t we start with how you two met?”

“For work,” Will answers, as he knows he will have to participate in this conversation as well. He pulls his hand back, rests it on his knees, and out of the corner of his eye sees Hannibal fold his back over his lap. “We asked for his advice on a case, and I was the one who would work with him.” Simple statements of truth, things that could be interpreted in any direction to get around the truth potion they were under the effects of. He assumed Hannibal would be doing the same.

Clearly, he had assumed wrong. “It was over the moment he stepped into my office,” Hannibal says wistfully. “I was smitten.” 

It’s difficult for Will to choke back his reaction to that, but he manages. Distantly, he wonders if this was why Hannibal had agreed to this plan so readily. He speaks next, mostly to stop Hannibal from talking. “We worked so well together that he came on as a regular consultant.”

“How long have you two known each other?” Mary asks.

“A bit over a year,” Hannibal replies. “We got along quite well and became fast friends.”

To that, Will nods. “As part of my… empathy, the way I use it to do my job, I need someone to ground me, tie me back to reality. He turned out to be good at it. That sort of thing… draws people together. He’s seen me at my most vulnerable.”

“It did not help quell my infatuation,” Hannibal says, voice light, and there is laughter in the crowd.

“So what happened?” It’s Robert again. He seems to be the one who asks the open-ended questions, while Mary homes in on facts and things that would be impossible to lie about. “You had a good relationship, from the sound of it. What led you to that point?”

Hannibal glances at Will, asking for permission he would have just ignored if they weren’t both pretending to be somewhat normal. Will nods, makes himself hesitate. “Will is… a very closed-off person, perhaps largely because of his powers.” Hannibal says these words slowly, like he doesn’t want to say anything remotely negative about the man beside him. “It is next to impossible to read his emotions or intentions. His affection is a rare gift I did not want to take the risk of losing.”

“You were too afraid to take the next step?”

“Essentially,” Hannibal pretends to agree. “I would have been content simply remaining a friend, but I knew that if he did not share my affections that he would end this friendship to spare me the heartache, no matter what I told him otherwise.”

Will considers this briefly. Hannibal wasn’t wrong, and he likely would have done so with anybody else, but when he tries to extend that reasoning to Hannibal it’s like he hits a wall of static. It sits poorly with him and he cannot place why. “It almost sounds cruel when you say it like that,” he mutters, forgetting for a moment that they are on national television and not discussing this over dinner.

Thankfully, Hannibal recovers it perfectly. “If anything, it is the opposite,” he corrects. “You know intimately how people experience emotions, and know that the kindest thing to do can be to let someone go.” There are murmurs of agreement throughout the crowd, and Will lowers his eyes. He’s not used to people agreeing with his superficially cruel actions, or even having the chance to explain them. He is never looking for validation. Receiving it unsettles him.

The hosts can see he is uncomfortable and rescue him, steering the conversation back towards Hannibal’s story. “If you were content with remaining friends, what drove you to this action?”

“Ah,” Hannibal interjects, smiling in a way that manages to combine smug and sad. “I never said I was content. I would have accepted it if needed, but I longed for something more. Not knowing was slowly driving me mad, and I focused on that idea like a lifeline.”

Will knows he’s blushing and turns away from the crowd. He hopes to god Beverly and Jack aren’t watching, which is a ridiculous thing to think because both of them are backstage right this moment, obviously watching to make sure nothing goes wrong. His ears are twitching, drooping slightly, tail thumping on the floor. A hand extends towards him, settles on his lower back. “He does not like it when I bring this up,” Hannibal adds, an apology in his voice.

“I hate that I didn’t even notice,” Will whispers, barely audible through his mic. The words he is saying are coming out entirely without his permission. “He was… struggling with this, and I didn’t even notice.”

“With your powers, how could you have missed something like this?” Mary manages to say it in a way that frames it as a simple question, instead of the accusation it easily could have been.

“I…” Will doesn’t want to answer, not because he is ashamed of the reason, but because it will only serve to direct pity towards him, and he cannot stand pity. Still, he knows he must. “I’ve always had… trouble, identifying positive emotions people hold towards me. I’m not entirely sure why,” he adds hastily, as if it wasn’t painfully obvious to everyone what the true reason was. After all, he had no issues identifying the negative ones.

“I do not blame you,” Hannibal says, voice low. The conversation is dangerously close to derailing.

Robert seems to notice this as well, and turns to Hannibal. “So you just wanted to know how he felt? You could then either move forwards, or adjust your expectations accordingly.” It sounds startlingly similar to something Hannibal would have said. These hosts were extraordinarily good at their jobs.

“That is what the ritual said it would do,” Hannibal acquiesced. “Reveal someone’s hidden intentions.” There is a beat where Hannibal looks at Will, eyes flicking from his ears to his tail. “It clearly did not go as planned.”

It startles a laugh out of Will, which sets off the audience. During this noise, Hannibal finally pulls his hand back, and Will finds himself missing its presence. Bedelia waits for the room to settle down before speaking. “I find it likely that the initial ritual he was attempting was fake entirely,” she says, voice calm. “You told me you made a mistake, did you not?”

“Indeed,” Hannibal continues. “While I was attempting to place the final catalyst, I injured myself, and the blood fell on the ritual instead.” An extraordinarily masterful almost-lie, as Hannibal had in fact injured himself while trying to place the final catalyst. It had just been entirely on purpose. 

“He essentially created his own ritual by chance,” Bedelia elaborates. “It has certainly happened before, and I believe only succeeded here because of the two men involved. A once in a lifetime happenstance that cannot be replicated.”

“Will you make the ritual itself public, if you think it cannot be performed again?”

The appalled face Bedelia pulls forces a laugh out of Will, though he tries to disguise it as a cough. The corner of Hannibal’s mouth twitches as he smothers a smile. “Absolutely not,” she answers, voice flat. “Rituals are dangerous enough to begin with, and there’s no telling what someone could mistakenly do trying to replicate these results.”

“A smart move,” Mary smiles. “Now, I know everyone has been thinking this same question… what’s the deal with snow leopards?”

Will turns back to Hannibal, who’s eyes have fallen to the floor. He reaches out a hand and settles it on the other man’s knee. “It was my sister’s favorite animal,” he says, voice tight. “She died young.”

Simple, to the point, and impactful. Will’s hand squeezes, and Hannibal covers it with his own. The room is utterly silent, the pain so obvious that everyone can feel it even without Will’s powers. 

It’s Robert that eventually speaks. “I’m very sorry for your loss,” he offers. They change the subject. “You love him, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Hannibal answers, without hesitation. Will can  _ hear _ Beverly’s gasp of shock from backstage. “I always will.”

Mary follows up, turned towards Will. “This cannot have been an easy time for you, but you are with him despite it all. Do you share his feelings?”

This was the question Will had been expecting, turned over in his head constantly, trying to figure out an answer. He couldn’t just say ‘no’ of course, but he didn’t think a ‘yes’ would work either. No matter how long he had thought on it, nothing came to him, and he resolved to just cross that bridge when he came to it. “I let him change me,” is what comes out of him. “Isn’t that answer enough?”

Hannibal looks at him sharply, the hand over his squeezing near the point of pain. There’s more to the interview, just a way to close it out and thank the guests for coming, and throughout it Will refuses to meet Hannibal’s eyes. They walk offstage, a tech pulls the mics off of them and then Hannibal’s hand is around Will’s wrist and he’s nearly being dragged away with such urgent purpose that he is almost afraid of what is coming, would have been if it was anyone other than Hannibal-

Their path is blocked by Beverly and Jack. Instantly, Hannibal drops Will’s wrist, regains his usual calm with practised ease. “Going somewhere?” Jack asks, eyebrow raised.

The potions are precisely timed and have clearly worn off because Hannibal’s answer is “Just looking for you. Shall we go?”

Jack drove them all here and he drives them all back, Beverly sitting shotgun and Will and Hannibal in the back seat. A strange sort of tension fills the air. “We should get you protection,” Will mutters absentmindedly, still sort of dazed.

“I don’t believe I need any.” He expected Hannibal to refuse, even though he clearly needed it.

“Will’s right,” Jack interjects, coming to the empath’s rescue. “You’re going to be as much of a target as Will, since you performed the ritual.”

“At least get Alana to set up some wards,” Beverly suggests, sensing a compromise would be the best way to proceed.

“Doctor Bloom may not be particularly inclined to assist me at the moment.”

“I doubt she wants you dead,” Will shoots back. Silence hangs heavy in the car, because that’s the risk here- if the killer gets the jump on either of them, they could easily end up dead because of it. “Please,” he adds, quiet.

“Very well,” Hannibal relents. “It may be wise for someone other than myself to ask it of her.”

The rest of the drive is silent, and everyone automatically parts ways back at Quantico. That night, Will barely sleeps, consumed with the question of what would have happened, back at the studio, if Beverly and Jack had not intercepted them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean doesn't everyone just kneel before their homies by the fire and rest their heads on their thighs? totally normal
> 
> anyways, I'm sure everyone knows this by now but snow leopards absolutely hold their tails in their mouths. It is generally assumed to be a play behavior and yes it's [_exactly_ as cute as you'd expect it to be.](https://imgur.com/gallery/qpgQT)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters are going to start getting a bit longer, now. This is also the point where I start feeling a lot better about what I've written. As always, thank you to everyone for the support!

Will is returning home from the most awkward lunch with Alana he’s had in his entire life when Hannibal calls him. It’s been a couple days since the talk show and Hannibal has been… not exactly distant, but many of his actions had felt impersonal and feigned in a way they never had before. The change unsettles Will. He isn’t entirely sure what he will do if this turns out to be permanent. “Hey,” he greets, after putting the phone on speaker and laying it on the seat beside him.

There is a brief moment of silence and Will thinks that maybe he’s ruined something else, somehow, before he even _did_ anything and then Hannibal is saying “You really do need some sort of headset,” with a smile in his voice. Wil nearly sighs with relief. 

“I can hear you just fine,” he teases, hoping to draw that faint sound of irritation out of the other man and smiling when he hears it.

“Do you have plans for this evening?”

Will blinks. “Just got done talking to Alana, so no. She agreed to help you with some wards but you’ll have to hash out the details with her yourself.”

“Ah. Did she give you a scolding as well?”

“I’m pretty sure she gave me the number of a crisis center, actually.”

Hannibal makes a curious sound. “If I sent you an address, would you be able to meet me there at six? It is in Baltimore, and I will make us dinner afterwards.”

Mentally, Will goes over his tasks for the day- feed the dogs, let them out, and absolutely nothing else. He was close to home and could easily make it there and back into town later in time. “Sure. You gonna tell me where I’m going?”

“I think not.”

“Afraid it’s gonna scare me off?”

“You have seen far worse, and you will simply have to trust me on this.”

Will laughs. “Alright, fine. See you there at six.”

“At six.” Hannibal hangs up his phone, and Will is left to try and piece together where he may be going.

He hasn’t entirely figured it out when he pulls up in front of the unassuming yet sleek exterior of the building he has been led to. While he does not see the man himself, he recognizes Hannibal’s Bentley parked nearby, and heads into the building. It is, somewhat unsurprisingly, a tailor.

“Ah, Will.” Hannibal spots him as he enters and gestures him over, to an area with a raised platform and far too many mirrors. “It is good to see you. If you would try this on, please.” Another man, older, all sharp angles and perfectly arranged hair, beckons to Will and hands him what is undeniably a tuxedo. Will’s eyebrows are in his hairline, but he obediently takes the suit and steps into a changing room with it.

The pants function in the same manner as the ones Hannibal had provided him with previously, with a hole just large enough for his tail and a clasp to secure the portion that sits above it. The coat is split in the back, hanging no lower than a normal tuxedo but separating high enough that it both does not touch and draws attention to his tail. He tries valiantly to twist himself around in front of the single mirror to see the full effect, worried that it really just shows off his ass because he wouldn’t put that past Hannibal for a second, but it is ultimately futile and he slips back out of the changing room with a sigh.

The mystery tailor is on him with startling speed, turning him around and peering at the fit of the clothes. His back is turned towards Hannibal but he can feel the man’s intense gaze, and based on where it lingers he can only assume that his previous assumption is correct. “On the platform, please,” the tailor asks him, voice faintly accented. Possibly French. Will climbs onto the raised area and allows the tailor to arrange him as he desires.

“This seems a bit excessive, you know,” Will points out. He’s running tallies in his head, trying to figure out just how much money this suit will take out of him. “How much does this cost?” He cranes his neck, locks eyes with the tailor. “How much does this cost.”

“It is already paid for,” Hannibal says cooly, like it was the most trivial thing in the world.

Will startles on the platform, and the tailor scolds him. “Excuse me?”

“You did not object when I gave you the pants,” Hannibal points out, faintly amused.

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t have needed those in the first place if it wasn’t for you so it seemed like a fair agreement.”

“Suits will also no longer fit you.”

“I need pants. I don’t _need_ a suit, least of all a tux.” He winces, glances at the tailor and apologizes. The man just shrugs.

“You need something to wear.”

It’s clicking into place, the pieces of Hannibal’s plan solidifying into a whole. “To where?”

“The opera.”

Will lets his head droop down, onto his chest. With his arms held out as they currently are, he imagines he looks like some sort of twisted scarecrow. “The opera,” he repeats.

“As I am sure you are aware, I am deeply involved with the Baltimore social scene. We have yet to attend a function together and this is the perfect opportunity to rectify this.”

“I haven’t said yes yet, you know.” It sounds hollow even to him. “When is it?”

“Saturday evening.” Hannibal does not ask Will if he has plans, because they both knew he does not.

“Where does the suit not fit right?” the tailor interrupts, and Will spends several minutes pointing out all the places the tailor had missed. The man’s skill is evident, but he has likely never created a suit like this before and small problems have arisen from the modifications.

“Alright, fine,” Will finally sighs. “Opera. You sure you want me to come embarrass you?”

He sees Hannibal in the mirror, sees the genuinely pleased grin that blooms across his face, and then he has to look away. “I would like nothing more.”

The night of the opera, Will is standing in his bathroom, a straight razor in his hand. He barely used it even before his transformation and it has been sitting forgotten in the back of a cabinet. Part of their dinner conversation from earlier in the week floats through his head.

_“Some of my acquaintances have mentioned in passing that you frighten them somewhat,” Hannibal says, nearly out of nowhere._

_Will almost chokes on the bite of food he has only just put into his mouth. “I’m sorry?” he eventually manages._

_“Your unusual powers combined with a somewhat gruff appearance can be off-putting to some, I am sorry to say. You may find it to your advantage to… soften your appearance, for the opera.”_

_Silence. “You’re asking me to shave.”_

Well, if Hannibal wanted to up the embarrassment factor by having Will stumble around like a drunkard all evening, he was happy to provide. He has some hair product as well and carefully slicks his curls back, exposing his eyebrows, hoping that the increased input there will worsen the problem. It also exposes his ears, something he normally dislikes, but he barely gives that a passing consideration.

He doesn’t realize what he has inadvertently done until he opens the door after Hannibal knocks and the other man actually _freezes._ “Good evening, Will,” he eventually says, voice a bit strained.

Will thinks he may have been about to blush until his eyes land on Hannibal’s bow tie and pocket square. “Hannibal, seriously?”

“Hmm?” Hannibal looks down, as if he has forgotten for a moment what he is wearing. Part of Will thinks he might not actually be faking it. “Is there a problem?”

There is, but Will hasn’t the faintest idea of how to go about addressing it. It’s not terribly uncommon for couples to coordinate their outfits, though usually this doesn’t involve one wearing accents to match the other person’s _ears and tail._ “No. Nevermind. Let’s go.”

Hannibal keeps stealing glances as he drives them to the opera house. It’s both amusing and sort of intoxicating, and makes Will uncomfortable in a way that sets him on edge. “Is there something on my face?” he finally says.

“Apologies,” Hannibal says quickly, eyes locked back onto the road. “You look… extraordinary, and I am having difficulty adjusting to it.”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?” Will laughs, the honesty of the statement shocking the irritation away entirely.

“Compliment, as always.”

“Yeah well, don’t get used to it,” he mutters. He reaches up to fix a stray curl, and the contact makes his ear twitch.

They arrive at the opera house thirty minutes before the start of the opera itself. “I would normally arrive earlier, but I thought I would spare you some of the mingling.” Hannibal, obnoxiously, is out of the car and holding the door open for Will before he can extract himself.

Will glances down at the pants of his suit once he is standing, and winces. Luckily, Hannibal had the foresight to have his suit made in a lighter grey, so he is spared the indignity of having to ask Hannibal if he has a fucking lint roller rolling around in his trunk. “Go on, then,” he teases. “Lead me to my execution.”

Hannibal holds out his arm, and Will tucks his hand into the other man’s elbow. If he leans a bit too heavily into the limb as they pick their way up the stairs, Hannibal has the grace not to call attention to it.

The most surprising thing to Will when he enters is seeing that he’s not actually the only person here with animal features. He sees a woman across the room with the tail and crest of a male peacock, a man with the pointed ears and shaggy tail of a wolf, and someone almost entirely obscured who appears to have the horns of a ram. He sniffs- no felines, thankfully. Unconsciously, he pulls his hand away from Hannibal and moves forward, eyes tracking around the room in wonder. Almost immediately there is a hand tucking into his collar, hauling him backwards and halting his progress. Will blinks, and sees the waiter he had nearly collided with.

“Perhaps you should stay nearby,” Hannibal whispers to him, fixing where his tux had been disturbed.

Will shivers, but slips his hand back into the crook of Hannibal’s elbow and sticks beside him as they mingle.

He calls it mingling but it’s more like a mob. With the attention Hannibal draws when he enters you would think he is some wildly famous celebrity, though once Will thinks about that he realizes that Hannibal essentially _is_ to this scene. He is only further alarmed when every single person, while initially drawn to Hannibal, diverts their attentions towards Will immediately upon noticing him. He tolerates the thirty-odd minutes of “Oh it’s so wonderful to finally meet you” and “The both of you look so dashing” and “You must be Mr Graham, we’ve all heard _so much_ about you” and by the end his smile is strained and his tail is swishing back and forth behind him. Blessedly, the doors open, and Hannibal spirits him away to the box seats he presumably has lifetime ownership of.

“Your reputation certainly seems to have survived,” Will says once they are safely in their seats. “Do you think they would notice if I just stayed up here the whole intermission?”

“I would certainly notice,” Hannibal answers primly. Out of the question, then.

Will sits in what is clearly his seat, a copy of the plush one beside it but with a substantial portion near the bottom of the back removed so his tail can hang comfortably behind him. Hannibal must have asked for the modification himself, a quick glance around at the other boxes confirming that no others have seats like this in them. He wonders how the woman with the peacock tail is managing.

The lights dim, the curtain rises, and Will has about thirty seconds of paying attention to the opera itself before his focus is ripped away to Hannibal instead.

He isn’t looking at Hannibal, he is very deliberately not looking at Hannibal, unsure of how he would react to what expression the other man may be wearing at the moment. Emotions are pouring out of the man beside him on a level that rivals what a normal person may display. He has always been well aware of Hannibal’s blunted affect, clocked it on the man the moment he first walked into his office, so to feel him emote to this degree manages to feel like what wild hysteria would on anybody else. The opera is in another language of course, but Will is able to follow along with the plot purely based on how he feels Hannibal react to it. It’s strange, almost like watching a movie through someone else’s eyes.

The soprano launches herself into a powerful song, standing almost motionless at the front of the stage. She climbs higher and higher, the sounds making Will’s ears twitch downwards, threatening to flatten entirely. He can see the pattern of the music forming, see it only climb further upwards, his body beginning to tense in anticipation. A dull ache is beginning to take root behind his eyes, the pitch raises, she hits high C and holds it and knives are burrowing deep inside of Will’s ears. His face is twisting in pain and his ears are pulled down and back almost flush along the sides of his head, anyone could look up and see his reaction, the _singer_ could glance upwards and see his reaction-

Will turns slightly and buries his face into Hannibal’s shoulder, unable to stop the smallest hiss that escapes him. Hannibal startles slightly, so drawn into the opera that the touch has surprised him. “Will?” he asks softly, concern in his voice. “Are you alright?” He brings a hand up, runs his fingers along the flattened ears before settling his hand on the back of Will’s neck, stroking gently.

The soprano does not hit the note again, but they remain as they are until the song ends nonetheless. The opera continues but Hannibal is focused entirely on Will, soothing him until the empath finally uncurls from his position, blinking rapidly. “Sor-” Will swallows around the lump in his throat. “Sorry.”

“What is the matter?” 

“The- the higher notes.” It feels shameful to admit. “They were painful.”

Realization dawns on Hannibal’s face. “Would you like to leave?”

“That really high note… is it going to happen again?” Hannibal shakes his head slowly. “Then I’ll be fine.” He shoots Hannibal a weak smile. “It’d be weird if we left early.”

“If you change your mind, you need only tell me.”

“I’ll be fine,” Will reiterates. “Promise.”

Hannibal does not look entirely convinced and he never settles fully into the opera again. A part of Will curses himself for ruining his only opportunity to see Hannibal like that, something close to vulnerable.

During the intermission, Will lets people spin their own tales about how overcome with emotion he had been, lets them trail it into a discussion of their own. After, he listens to Hannibal apologize for not bringing him sooner, spin his own lies about how Will’s job very rarely leaves him free enough to events such as this, recognizes it for the preemptive explanation of why he will never return that it is. His mind is drifting, and when he bends to slide into Hannibal’s car he overcorrects and falls into it instead.

Hannibal, already in the driver’s seat, catches him by the shoulders before he ends up in his lap. “I should not have asked you to shave. I apologize.”

Will settles in more properly and buckles the seatbelt. “Of course you knew,” he groans. “Was this all some grand experiment?”

“Nothing of the sort. I had nothing more than a suspicion, and assumed you would refuse entirely and be forced to tell me why.”

“That’s not better,” Will bites out. “The sound, did you predict my reaction to that too? Was that part of the game?”

“No,” Hannibal answers sharply. “I truly did not anticipate your reaction, and I regret the pain it caused you.”

“Yeah, well. I think we can agree that the opera is off the table.”

“Perhaps I can find productions that lack a soprano.” He does not sound particularly hopeful, nor concerned about it. The rest of the drive back to Wolf Trap is done in silence.

Hannibal hesitates in the car once it is parked. “Your whiskers,” he begins, choosing his words carefully. “How long until they regain their former state?”

“Jesus, don’t call it that.” Will sinks into his seat, runs his hands over his face. “Should be back to normal by Monday. It’s not a big deal, it’s much worse if I go the other way and let it get too long.”

A rare awkward silence. “If I have… overstepped my bounds tonight, I feel I must apologize.”

Will actually laughs. “Really, Hannibal? _Now_ you’re concerned about my boundaries?” 

Hannibal looks down. “Fair enough.”

“You’re not good at regret,” Will sighs. He opens the car door. “I’m not used to you exercising restraint. It rings far too false on you. Goodnight, Hannibal.”

Will has every intention of exiting the car and returning to his home but he is stopped by an iron grip around his elbow, pulling him back into the car and down onto the seat. Hannibal’s other hand shoots outwards, cups Will’s smooth jaw like he has obviously been longing to do the entire night, fingers stroking along the bone and trailing up the hinge to touch the furred ears that rest above. “Noted,” Hannibal says, voice low, and Will finds that he has stopped breathing. The other man’s fingers curl upwards, scratching where Will’s ear meets his skull, his thumb still smoothing over the edge of Will’s jaw. Will is just starting to lean into the touch when Hannibal pulls back, smiling faintly. “Goodnight, Will.”

He doesn’t really remember exiting the car, doesn’t really remember getting back into his house, hanging up his suit and letting out the dogs, getting dressed and sliding into bed. All he remembers is the ghost of a touch along his face and how suddenly large and empty where he sleeps seems.

The following day, Will is hauling the grate away from his fireplace to clean the chimney when his phone rings. He answers without looking, eyes peering inside to see just how bad it is when he speaks. “Graham.”

“Hello, Will.” Hannibal’s voice is warm, tinged with mirth at receiving what, for him, is an unusual greeting.

Will pulls the phone away from his head and double checks the caller ID. Somehow, it doesn’t really seem real that the other man is calling him, after yesterday. “Hey, sorry. What’s up?”

“Do you have plans for today?”

He glances at the fireplace. It’s nothing urgent. “No, nothing. Got something in mind?”

“I would like to make you dinner, as an apology for yesterday evening. Something I could prepare at your home, I think.”

Outside, the sky is grey and stormy, though dry for the moment. “It’s gonna rain, right? You that eager to be surrounded by the smell of wet dog?”

Hannibal makes a faint noise. “I will manage. Once I collect the ingredients I will depart.”

“What, now?” Will sounds somewhat shocked. He should have enough time to clean the place a little, take the dogs out and clean them up too. Hopefully he could make it back before the rain.

“Now,” Hannibal confirms. Will notes that he does not offer to come later.

“Alright, I’ll take the dogs out now then. If I’m not back by the time you get here, the door will be unlocked. Just come inside and make yourself at-” He stops. The final word in the phrase is innocent, but feels loaded. “Set yourself up,” he tries, knowing the recovery will fail miserably. 

“Very well,” and the tone in Hannibal’s voice makes it very evident that none of what just transpired has escaped him. “Do take an umbrella. It wouldn’t do to get caught in the rain.”

“Yes, sir,” Will mutters, and then they say their goodbyes.

He sweeps up the dog hair and makes sure nothing in his home is terribly askew before opening the door and released the tide of canines. It’s cold but not terribly so he simply puts on a jacket and grabs an umbrella, heeding Hannibal’s warning. The sky is darker and swelling with the promise of rain, but for now they remain dry. He weighs the possibility of wet dog against having to pick burrs and seeds out of the fur of seven animals before leading his pack into the forest, where they will be sheltered from all but the strongest rain. He needs something to do anyways while Hannibal chops carrots for four hours or whatever the hell he does when he’s cooking.

It turns out to be the right decision when the skies open and the rain pours down maybe fifteen minutes after he has left. It’s a torrent, and he finds himself using the umbrella as he weaves between the smaller trees, keeping an eye on his pack. He would like to wait out the worst of it here, the dogs definitely would not mind, but it shows no sign of letting up and he resolves himself to a dash home in the rain. They near the edge of the forest when the temperature begins to drop rapidly. Will’s eyes flick between his house off in the distance and his jacket hanging open on his chest. It’s cold and will only get colder. He sighs, sets his umbrella down, and buttons up the coat for additional warmth.

He’s reaching for the umbrella to pull it back above his head and manages to get it safely in his hand before his still too short stubble finally gets to him and he misjudges the arc he needs to lift it at, resulting in him dashing it across his face. It connects almost perfectly across the middle of his glasses, flinging the water that had still clung to it across his face and head and rendering his glasses all but useless. He scowls and pulls the item off his face and pockets it. He’ll manage the walk home without.

“Are you alright, Will?” a familiar voice rings out, because of _course_ Hannibal had come looking for him and of _course_ had found him right at this moment. Will flushes with embarrassment. 

“I can’t believe you saw that,” he grumbles. “Glasses took the worst of it.”

“You could have hit an eye,” Hannibal points out.

Will blinks up at him. He’s farsighted, only really needs to glasses to read, but they give him something to hide behind and he wears them as often as possible. “You know, the words you’re saying sure sound concerned, but I’m really just picking up amusement.”

Hannibal holds up his free hand in mock surrender. “Guilty,” he smiles, one corner of his mouth pulling up. “A habit I find hard to break in your presence, even now. Shall we return?”

At the very edge of the forest Will whistles for his pack, counting them and only finding six. “Winston?” He calls, craning his neck around to try and locate the dog.

“He has returned already,” Hannibal explains. “When he came back alone I thought it prudent to find where you had gone.”

Will sighs. “He’s always liked you,” he says wistfully. Most of the dogs shoot ahead, making it home and waiting obediently on the porch where Winston sits, with the exception of Buster. Will ends up carrying the small dog back home under his arm. He wipes them off the best he can before returning inside, where Hannibal has already started on the cooking. There are so many different ingredients crammed onto his kitchen island that he’s impressed Hannibal managed to fit them all. “I can give you a hand in a bit, after I finish with the dogs.”

It takes nearly an hour to pick everything out of their fur, most of that time spent on Zoe, who has managed to collect a truly impressive amount of burrs within her curls. Hannibal joins him near the end, all the prep work seemingly done, the main dish cooking slowly in the oven. Will releases Zoe, finally finished, and brushes the dog fur off on his jeans.

“Will,” Hannibal sighs, eyes falling. “Your tail.”

“Hm?” Will turns his head, spying a smaller collection of sticks and burrs on his own tail where it had touched the ground. “Oh, whoops. I can’t really hold it up or anything. Forget sometimes.” He goes to pull it forward and clean it but is stopped when Hannibal sits heavily on the bed that is just behind him and pulls it onto his own lap, careful fingers carding through the fur and plucking out the bits and pieces that had been collected. Will doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, barely remembers to breathe until Hannibal finally releases the limb, watching with amusement as it flies back to Will’s side with lightning speed. “T-Thanks,” Will says shakily.

“Of course,” Hannibal replies, and the tiny smile on his face is anything but amused.

Will doesn’t consider himself religious but he thanks whatever gods may be listening when Hannibal decides he apparently wants to talk about a case while the food is cooking. Cases are easy. He could talk about other people all day. Hours later, when the food in the oven is nearly done, Will helps Hannibal cook the sides. He’s put in charge of the rice, which seems simple, a suspicion that is confirmed when he glances over and sees Hannibal doing something far too complicated with the beans. His attention is caught and held when Hannibal cracks the oven to check on the roast and sees what appears to be an _entire pig_ inside. The rice nearly boils over before he catches it.

They eat what turns out to be a cuban-style suckling pig, paired with Hannibal’s complicated bean dish and Will’s basic but properly cooked rice. It’s, predictably, delicious, the citrusy tang of the marinade pairing wonderfully with sweet and soft meat. They make small talk over dinner and then Will is helping Hannibal clean up, noticing how all of the leftovers are placed in his own fridge and deciding not to acknowledge that. 

The temperature has dropped considerably, the steady patter of rain dissolving away without Will noticing. They are washing and drying the dishes when he sees the fat white flakes drifting down beyond the glass. Instantly, Will’s ears perk up, his tail swishing back and forth in anticipation. “Hannibal,” he says, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice, “it’s _snowing!”_

Hannibal looks up and out the window, watching the snow fall. “So it is,” he says, voice low. “The first snowfall of the season.”

Will is still drying the dishes but his eyes are locked outside. It had clearly started snowing a while ago without them noticing, a thin blanket of white coating the area. His ears are twitching and he thinks he might be hitting Hannibal with his tail but he barely notices because he wants to go outside _so badly_.

Hannibal notices. “I can finish, if you’d like. We are nearly done.”

Will shoves the plate he was holding in the drying rack, nods quickly, and makes a beeline for his front door. He still retains enough foresight to pull on his cold weather clothes, even with the dogs surging around him, picking up his excitement and recognizing them impending journey outside. The beanie is barely pulled down over his head when he throws the door open and nearly runs outside.

There isn’t much on the ground and he’s somewhat amazed it even was able to cool the earth enough to leave some behind. Despite the thin covering, his dogs leave obvious pawprints as they dart around. When he crouches down he can collect enough to press into a ball, sending the dogs skittering after it as he throws it. Some of them catch on and jump up to shatter the snowballs before they hit the ground, yipping happily. Will finds he’s laughing as well.

He doesn’t see Hannibal step out onto the porch so much as he feels the other man. An incredible feeling of fondness radiates out towards him, warming him deep inside, followed by flat out affection. He’s enjoying himself too much to bring himself to feel awkward about it. It all just feels right, the dogs running around him, the snow falling, Hannibal waiting and watching from the porch. It feels like it fits.

Will makes them hot chocolate once he comes back inside, if only to see the surprise on Hannibal’s face when he pulls out real chocolate and makes it on the stove. Hannibal drives back to Baltimore in the end, before he gets snowed in in Wolf Trap when he has patients to attend to the next day. Neither man seems particularly pleased with the arrangement.

Nothing much happens with the case with the transformed man over the next month, though several things of note happen that are unrelated to it.

Firstly, they are all called in last minute for a new case, and Beverly arrives in an elaborate costume.

“What the hell is that?” Zeller laughs, mostly out of shock.

She is wearing a beautiful forest green dress, hair and make up done up in an elaborate manner to match, a pair of fake horns curving up from her skull. She shrugs. “It’s hard to get my whole family together for the holidays so we just kind of smash them all together into one big shebang.”

“Hallogivingsmas,” Will muses, eyes locked on the horns.

“Christgivingween,” Beverly corrects. “Now, what have we got?”

Hannibal joins them later, finding Will crouched behind a filing cabinet, tail swishing back and forth rapidly, eyes dilated. “Am I interrupting something?”

“What?” Will shakes his head and turns away from where he had been watching Beverly. When he meets Hannibal’s eyes, the other man looks positively _delighted._

After this point, Will notices a sharp increase in the number of horned skulls incorporated into Hannibal’s decor. There’s one in particular, with huge curved horns dwarfing the size of the skull itself, that Hannibal often has to physically pull him away from.

Secondly, Will receives a letter.

The fact that it exists is enough to arouse his curiosity. Will rarely receives mail, having managed to exclude himself from every junk mailing list in existence through a combination of dedication and living in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, and all correspondence related to his job is sent to Quantico. That leaves family members, of which he thinks he might have two, and an only slightly larger list of friends. Everyone he knows is close enough that they can just stop by themselves if they desperately wanted to give him a letter, though it hasn’t come up yet. 

It has his full name and address on the front, with no return address to speak of. He sniffs it, lets Winston sniff it, and only once they have both deemed it safe does he rip it open. There is only a short note inside. _Be careful,_ it reads. _If he changed you with his blood, you must exercise the utmost caution, for he must be more than he seems._

Will frowns. He flips the letter over, finding nothing on the backside of the paper. It’s not signed and appears to have been handwritten, matching the script of nobody he knows personally. 

The warning is about Hannibal, obviously. No matter how many times he rolls it around in his head he can’t connect it with anything he knows about the man, or even magic in general. It could simply be a prank, though it would be an odd one. Blood magic does exist, outlawed, though nothing he knows about it gives him the impression that it would be used to create a transformation spell.

He could ask Hannibal. Something deep inside of him, a quiet whisper, tells him that he shouldn’t. He puts the letter as far back in a drawer as he can fit it and tells no one.

And finally- there is a rare break in the snow so Will takes his pack to a park in town, throws a ball and lets them bark and play with others. It is warm enough that he shucks off his jacket and leaves it laying on a bench nearby, within sight, as he exercises the dogs. The piece of clothing is old, worn, and contains nothing of value. Not exactly a target for theft. He supposes that if someone needs it that badly, they’re better off with it than he is. Eventually, he turns his back to it, the dogs beckoning him further as they dance towards the forest.

When the sun is threatening to set he rounds the canines up and heads back to the bench, stopping short when he is hit by a sharp, unpleasant smell. Judging from the strength it had happened early on and had been sitting for a while unnoticed. Will kicks himself mentally- if he had been paying attention, he easily could have noticed the cat when it first appeared and possibly stopped it from peeing on his jacket in the first place. As it is now, he holds the piece of clothing as far away from him as possible before tossing it in his trunk and slamming it shut.

He washes the jacket three times and the smell only seems to get worse. Finally, he simply throws the thing away.

If it had ended there, it wouldn’t really be a problem, but he can only assume all of the stray cats in the area are working together because every time he leaves anything unattended for more than a couple minutes it gets peed on. Jackets, shoes, even case files on one occasion that led to an extremely awkward conversation with Jack. Eventually, he realizes that he can’t just keep tossing out his clothing like this, and weighs his embarrassing options before making his decision.

“Zeller,” Will says quietly, right before the other man ducks out of the room they were working in to get lunch. “Can I- can I talk to you for a sec?”

Brian’s eyes are wide and he looks a _little_ bit scared. “Uh, yeah, sure?”

Will jerks his head back, indicating that they should head somewhere quieter. He finds an empty room and steps inside, Zeller following behind him cautiously. “Okay, look, I really don’t _want_ to be asking you this, you understand?” Brian swallows and nods. “How.” Will’s mouth snaps shut, but he forces himself to open it again and keep going. “How the fuck do I get rid of cat pee smell?”

A lot of emotions pass through Zeller now, quite a few of them connected to ‘amusement’. Thankfully, the man schools himself before speaking. “Is this, uh-”

“Stray cats,” Will cuts in. “They must see me as some sort of threat, keep marking anything I leave laying around if I’m not at home.”

“Okay, so I’m assuming you don’t want to be seen at a pet store buying product to eliminate cat pee odor.” Will nods, shakily. “Why the hell are you asking me? Doesn’t your boyfriend know everything?”

The word _boyfriend_ sends a strange feeling through Will’s body, which he ignores. “I rely on him too much already,” he lies. “Not to mention you kept the fact that you had cats from us for _years_. You’d have to know.”

“Vinegar,” Zeller winces. “If you can stand the smell. Quarter cup in with the laundry, and if it’s something like your car just mix one part vinegar and one part water and scrub it. Make sure you air dry everything- dryer heat is just gonna set the smell in and then you’re fucked.”

“Oh,” Will says softly. “Shit, that’s what’s been ruining it all.”

“Might stink for a while, and you may have to wash it a couple times. Always does the trick.”

“Any specific kind?”

“I use cider, haven’t really messed around with it too much. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

“Me neither,” Will groans, rubbing a hand across his face. “Uh, this is a long shot, but… any way to keep them away in the first place?”

“If your dog smell isn’t keeping them away to begin with, you’re probably fucked beyond magical intervention.”

“Thought so. Well, uh. Thanks. For your help.”

They stand there awkwardly for a moment. “Let me know if you need any more. Help. I guess.”

“Just go,” Will mutters, feeling acutely how badly Zeller wants to escape this strange situation. As the other man hurries away, Will finds he shares the sentiment.

Will is called into Jack’s office, frowning when he sees it’s just the two of them inside. He closes the door behind him. “Is this about a case or is Purnell on the warpath?”

“I’ll keep this short,” Jack sighs, tension obvious across his face and radiating from him like a fire. “Hannibal is being followed.”

The words hit Will and bounce right off. “Sorry?”

“He told me that he’s noticed a man nearby him too frequently to be coincidence. He hasn’t told you.” It’s not a question.

“No.” Will’s mouth curls up in a snarl and his ears tilt down. “He hasn’t.”

“Yes, well, he told me not to tell anyone. Doesn’t consider it an issue.”

“Yet here you are, telling me.”

“Well,” Jack shrugs. “You’re dating him, you deserve to know.”

Will glances around the room, confirming that they are the only ones inside. “Did you forget that was fake?”

The look Jack shoots him suggests he has not forgotten, simply doesn’t trust that it’s still true. Considering the fact that it’s just as fake as when they started, it’s probably a sign that Will should figure some things out. “Fine, whatever. I’m going to go yell at him.”

“Will,” Jack calls, halting the other man’s progress. “Be careful. If he’s paying attention to Hannibal, there’s a good chance he’s paying attention to you too, and you don’t have the safety net that Hannibal does.” The words hang unsaid in the air; _he only needs Hannibal alive._

“I’ll be fine,” Will shoots back before slipping out and pulling out his phone.

Hannibal answers on the second ring. Will doesn’t even let him get out a greeting. “You’re being _followed?_ ”

Silence. “Jack told you.”

“Of _course_ Jack told me, it’s my fucking case. Why didn’t you tell me?”

A sigh. “I suppose it was too much to expect his silence. It is a suspicion, nothing more. I did not see the point in worrying you.”

“Yeah, well, this is worse. Did you ever get Alana to set up those wards?”

“Both at my home and office.”

“Got any new patients you’re seeing for the first time?”

“Will. I am not a child.”

Will sighs, long and low. “I’m sorry. I’m just- worried, I'm worried.”

Hannibal makes a strange noise, a combination of affection and resignation. “I will be fine, Will. I promise. If anything does happen trust that I will contact the FBI immediately.”

“Do you have a gun?”

“ _Will.”_

“Sorry, sorry. Okay, You’re fine. I trust you.”

“Ensure that you remain safe as well.”

Will laughs. “Is that your way of saying you’re worried about me too?”

“I suppose it is.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got plenty of ways to defend myself.”

“I do not doubt that you do.”

They talk a bit longer, until Hannibal has a patient and excuses himself. Will never really stops worrying, not after returning home, not after eating dinner, not when he opens the door to let the dogs out in the snow for the final time that day.

His pack is running around when a chill runs down his spine and his entire body stiffens. Across the field he sees Winston has frozen as well. He whistles twice, sharp, a command he rarely uses. It will alert whatever is in the dark to his position but he is more concerned with getting his dogs safely inside. They surge into his house and he seals them in the bathroom, Winston helping corral them all inside the smaller room. He shuts the door once he counts seven dogs. He blinks, and Winston is sitting in front of the door, outside of the bathroom. Winson slowly lies down, head on his paws, ears pricked up, eyes watching. The sound of the dogs barking and whining at the door fades away into nothing. Will listens, and hears absolutely nothing.

He makes his way to the center of his house, standing so he can see all possible entrances. There is a large window off to the side he pays special attention to, an obvious entrance point for a large beast to crash through. His body is tense, ears held up high to listen for movement, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

He was right about the large window. He hears the heavy pad of footsteps just before the glass and wood explodes inwards, giving him enough time to step back as the creature tumbles in, snarling and snapping. It collapses just where he was standing, though it recovers quickly and is soon scanning the room to search for its prey. The creature- their killer, for what else could it possibly be- is more beast than man, a wolf standing on two legs, drool dripping from its toothy maw. It snarls again, then stops, remembering its senses, and sniffs the air.

Wolves hunt in packs, work together to exhaust and corner their prey. A leopard is an ambush predator. Will waits silently, crouched on top of the wardrobe he has scaled, hidden in the shadows as well as he is able to be. The beast creeps closer, locking onto his scent, halting just below where Will is readying to pounce. He will be spotted and have to attack from the front, a clear disadvantage, but he has no other choice. Then, from the bathroom, a sharp cry- the beast spins on instinct, its back to Will, and Will pounces.

The creature thrashes, tries to throw Will off with its impressive bulk and strength, but Will does not relent. His fingers dig into the beast’s fur, the claws he doesn’t have seeking to latch on and keep his body attached. It howls in frustration, trying in vain to turn its head enough to snap and bite, surging backwards to slam Will against the wall. Will grits his teeth against the pain, feels his limbs loosening as he is struck again and again, throws out a leg to deflect away from the wall and unbalance his attacker. His ankle takes the brunt of the next impact and he thinks he feels something snap but it has the intended effect and the beast stumbles. Will plants his other foot on the floor and pushes forwards, knocking them both to the ground.

It’s all the opening he needs. Will lunges down, presses the beast’s head flat to the ground and fits his teeth around his neck, bites down until he tastes blood, keeps going until he hears a thunderous _crack_. 

The creature goes limp beneath him immediately. Will feels the urge to tear in, feed, make use of his kill- but he goes stumbling back, falling down hard when he attempts to put weight on his likely broken ankle. He can’t look at the body rapidly cooling on the floor, thinks he might vomit if he does. It takes some effort but he is able to stand and limp to the bathroom, where he washes the blood out of his mouth and off of his face. Once finished, he collapses to the ground, back against the sink, knees to his chest and hands on his face. His tail curls around him, fur bushing in distress.

He's just _killed_ someone.

He hears his front door open and doesn’t even twitch. If someone wanted to kill him right now, he’d probably let them. There’s a voice steadily getting louder. Maybe it’s Jack, coming to arrest him.

“ _Will.”_

Will blinks, pulls his hands away from his face, looks up. “Hannibal,” he chokes out, fractured and raw. “What are you-”

Hannibal drops to the ground in front of him and pulls Will into his chest, one hand on his back to keep him close, the other running frantically through his curls. “I was afraid you were dead,” he whispers, and for some reason that does it. It rips a hiccupping sob out of Will’s chest as he begins to cry.

“I ki-” He gulps down air, feels as if he cannot breath. “I k-killed him.”

“Self-defense,” Hannibal answers sharply. “He attacked you, likely would have killed you. You have done nothing wrong.”

“He’s _dead._ ” Everything is fading. Nothing feels real anymore. “I snapped his spine with my _teeth._ ” The hands on him tighten, startling a gasp out of Will.

The grip on him pulls backwards but does not lessen, leaving them sitting on the ground with faces inches apart. Hannibal moves his hands, places them along Will’s jawline, tilts his head up until their gazes meet. He leans in to where the tears are tracking down Will’s face and starts to kiss them away. In between kisses, he speaks. “You have done nothing wrong,” he repeats. Will lets out a great shuddering gasp before turning his head so that the next time Hannibal leans in, their lips meet.

It’s easy, feels inevitable, and Will melts into the kiss immediately. His mouth is open, inviting, something Hannibal takes full advantage of. His tongue is exploratory, mapping out the inside of Will’s mouth like he’s committing it to memory, feeling along the nearly sharp fangs. Will is distantly aware that he might be making noises that could be considered pitiful but his world has narrowed to this moment, the feel of Hannibal’s mouth against his, marveling at how something can seem so right. Will nips at Hannibal’s lower lip, surprised when it draws a growl out of the older man. Hannibal pulls back, rests their foreheads together as their breathing slows, then kisses along his forehead and down to his ear. “Are you injured, Will?” His lips dance along a furred ear, chasing it as it twitches away from the touch.

Will shivers. He doesn’t want to answer, because he knows it will break this moment, cause Hannibal’s concern to overwhelm all else. “My- my leg,” he sighs. “I think it’s my ankle.”

As Will expected, Hannibal pulls away, eyes tracking between both limbs curled up against Will’s chest. Will hesitates but finally unfurls the injured limb for Hannibal to inspect after moving his tail out of the way. He is careful as he rolls the pants leg up, causing minimal pain. “Broken,” Hannibal confirms, gingerly rotating the leg in his grip. “Not a compound fracture, thankfully.”

“Will I live, doc?” It’s supposed to be a joke but it sounds so shaky and empty that it just makes Hannibal frown.

“They will be here soon.” He must be referring to the FBI and what Will can only assume will be a parade of cop cars. “I called Jack the moment Winston found me.”

Now, Will frowns. “How did- what are you doing here?”

Hannibal lets out a laugh, mostly in disbelief. “I confess, my worry for you only grew throughout the day. I brought dinner, mostly as a pretense.”

“Hell of a pretense,” Will laughs. It’s soft and stuttered, but it’s something. “It appears your worries were well-founded.”

“Winston was waiting for me outside,” Hannibal continues softly. “It was immediately obvious something was wrong.”

Will’s head shoots up, ears along with them. “Winston, where is-” The dog in question strolls in as if summoned, flopping down on the tile and nosing Will’s shaking hand. “He…” He stops. Considers, then continues. “Winston did… something. I tried to put him in the other bathroom with the rest of the dogs and he just. Showed up on the other side of the door. He dampened the sound,” Will says slowly, realizing the words to be true as they escape him. “I couldn’t hear the dogs anymore, nothing but the- the beast.” He flattens his hand on Winston’s head, giving him the pets he is asking for and clearly deserves.

“Whatever he is, it is truly remarkable,” Hannibal agrees. They remain in the bathroom until the calvary arrives, Hannibal petting through Will’s hair until the tension dissolves and he finally begins to purr.

He hears the sharp call of “FBI!” as the team moves in, knows most of them will be consolidating around the body. Hannibal calls to them to let them know where they are. The person that joins them is Beverly, alone, something that Will could not be more grateful for.

“Will, holy shit,” she rushes out, kneeling down in front of them. “You okay?”

“A broken ankle,” Hannibal informs her. He makes no moves to extract himself from the crushing grip Will has on his jacket, and does not even stop petting the other man.

Beverly, at least now, is a consummate professional and does not call attention to it. “I think we have a pretty clear idea of what happened, but could you give me a short statement anyways? We’ll get a longer one later, don’t think you’re safe from that.”

Will nods, swallows thickly before speaking. “I was in the fields with the dogs when something felt… wrong. They’re in the other bathroom. It- he- b-broke in.” Will starts to crumble again here, and the hand in his hair drifts to his ears, rubbing soothingly. “Attacked.”

The look on Beverly’s face is positively dangerous. “How the _hell_ did he get in past the wards?”

All the panic and distress drops away. How _had_ he? “I need to see them,” Will says quickly. “I need to see where he got in.”

“Lemme ask Jack,” and then Beverly is ducking out of the room. Hannibal helps Will to his feet, allows him to put his weight on him to help him walk. They are soon rejoined by Beverly. “I’m coming with, but no one really suspects you of any wrongdoing right now so it’s fine. Let’s go.”

Will directs them towards the gap he can feel, the place where the net of magic has torn. “I have to use my magic,” he explains, glancing towards Hannibal. “I can stand on my own while I do it.” Hannibal nods but only moves behind Will, keeping him steady with a hand between his shoulder blades. Will breathes deeply, closes his eyes, and lets the cool sensation of the power flow through him.

When he opens his eyes he can see flashes of protection and concern where the wards are set, tied together like a dreamcatcher. Before him, it is rent in two, a jagged tear more than large enough to let a man-sized being through. Everything is painted red, a bright blinding red along all the fractured edges of the net, pooled in the snow like dripping blood. He leans forward, hand outstretched to touch it.

A strong grip on his wrist halts him and shocks him out of his trance. Will blinks, and everything fades back to normal. “You were about to step forwards,” Hannibal says apologetically. “You would have fallen.”

“Y-Yeah, thank you,” Will replies. “It- someone let him in.”

Beverly cocks her head. “What do you mean?”

“There was someone with him, they left a residual signature I’ve never seen before. They broke through the wards and let him in.”

“That’s bad, isn’t it.”

“Incredibly.”

“We need to speak with Alana,” Hannibal interjects. “She will know what it would have taken to break through the barrier.”

“She can meet you at the hospital.” Beverly nudges Will, nearly tipping him over before Hannibal rights him. “I wanna be the first to sign your cast, okay?”

Will shoots her a weak smile. “Whatever you want.”

They’re nearly back to the ambulance when Jack intercepts them. He has a familiar look in his eye. “Will, is there any way you could-”

It’s Hannibal that answers, voice clipped yet commanding. “Absolutely not.”

To his credit, Jack nods and retreats. “Katz, I need you back here. Let me know when you’re out of the hospital.” With that, he releases them.

Hannibal rides with Will in the ambulance he insists he does not need, trying to hide his smile as Will scowls while they check him for signs of shock. He does not leave Will’s side as they wait for hours in the waiting room of the ER, not allowing Will to move from his chair and bringing him anything Hannibal has decided that he needs. This is where Alana finds him.

“Oh my god, Will,” are the first words out of her mouth. “Will, I’m so sorry.”

“This is not remotely your fault,” Will grinds out. With the adrenaline gone, the pain in his ankle is only increasing and it’s fraying at his already famously short nerves. 

“If someone went about breaking through the barrier, how would they have done it?” Hannibal asks. His hand is on Will’s upper back, a compromise, since he cannot pet Will in public.

Alana’s brow furrows. “It would require a good deal of power no matter what. Generally speaking, they would destroy one of the wards directly and slip through the gap it leaves.”

“They didn’t,” Will murmurs. “They were all intact. It was like… it was like a fabric that someone had torn open with their bare hands.”

The furrow deepens. “I have never heard of something like that. Could you see any trace of the magic that was used?”

Will looks down. “It was red,” he says quietly. “Blood red. I’ve never seen anything like it. I don’t know what it was.”

“Hopefully I can find something on the wards themselves.” She smiles, though it’s sad. “I’m glad you’re okay, Will.”

“So am I,” he snorts. “Go help Jack. And get Bedelia- whatever transformation spell he was using, it’s a doozy.”

Hannibal still remains, charms his way into the room while the doctor sets Will’s ankle and wraps the pale grey cast around it. Beverly meets them right as Will is realizing he likely cannot go home. She confirms this as she pulls out a sharpie and draws rosettes all along the cast before signing her name obnoxiously large. “We’ve got your dogs on lockdown, between me and Alana. You’ll need a place to stay for a couple days until the scene is cleared, though.” Here, away from the gravity of a crime scene, her eyes finally fall on Hannibal, lingering before tracking away. 

“You are welcome to stay with me,” Hannibal offers. Will is too exhausted to do anything but accept.

It’s so late it’s rolled past into early morning when they arrive at Hannibal’s imposing home. He does not offer Will a guest room, only pulls him up into the master like it’s the most obvious solution in the world. They take turns in the ensuite and fall asleep tangled together under the sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leopards (including snow leopards, of course) do in fact kill their prey by [breaking their spine with a bite to the neck.](https://www.livescience.com/27403-leopards.html)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind comments, everyone! You've probably noticed that I'm very hands-off with comments (largely due to anxiety, if I'm being honest) but I'm definitely enjoying watching everyone guess about what may happen next. If anyone still has questions once the whole thing has been posted, I'll be more than happy to answer them, but hopefully I've managed to resolve everything in a way that makes sense!
> 
> also get ready because the cuddling floodgates have been opened and I literally could not stop myself

When Will wakes, it’s alone. He isn’t surprised by the fact as he knows Hannibal to exist on only a scant few hours of sleep, and the scent and sound of cooking drifting up from the kitchen confirms his suspicions. A quick glance around the room locates his glasses, which he forgoes, and his crutches, which he is not looking forward to using. He hauls himself to the side of the bed, stands unsteadily on one foot, puts the crutches under his armpits and takes one step before encountering a sharp pain and crumpling.

Hannibal’s frighteningly quick appearance in the doorway, rumpled and panicked, tells Will that he must have made an ungodly noise as well. “Tail,” he groans, pulling it into his lap to cling to it. “Got under the crutches.”

He’s somewhat reassured by the fact that he’s not the only one still on edge, not based on the flush across Hannibal’s face from when he clearly ran up the stairs and the slightly accelerated rate of his heartbeat. “It does not seem injured,” Hannibal eventually concludes, after he has pulled the limb into his own hands to carefully inspect. “We may need to find a temporary solution to keep it out of the way. Do you think you can get downstairs without assistance?”

Will stands, with Hannibal’s help. He tucks an arm under his heavy tail and throws it over his shoulder. “Works for short distances.” Hannibal nods, though he hovers nearby as Will picks his way down the stairs.

Over what can only be called brunch, they discuss possible solutions for the tail problem. “I can probably just carry it in my mouth,” Will shrugs.

“Are you not worried about your fangs biting through the skin?”

“Hasn’t happened yet.” At that, Hannibal’s eyes light up. Right. Hannibal doesn’t know about that. Will coughs. “Helps me think,” he says somewhat bashfully. “It’s comfortable.”

“How curious,” is all Hannibal allows himself to say. “If you think it would be an adequate solution, I trust your judgement on the matter.”

“Anyways,” Will cuts off, quickly changing the subject. 

Hannibal drops Will off at Quantico before heading to his office to see his patients for the day. Will still feels the burning gaze he had been given just before leaving, when he picked up his tail and neatly fit it across his teeth, biting down just enough to keep it securely in place. It melts away when he runs into Alana in the hallway, and this time she does drop the stack of papers she had been holding. “Oh shit,” she murmurs, a rare curse. It’s enough to make Will laugh. He barely catches his tail before it drops back to the ground.

“Did I startle you?” he teases. The alternative is imagining what he must look like, wandering around with his tail in his mouth like an animal. He supposes he is an animal, in a way. It’s strangely fitting.

“Jack is looking for you,” she answers instead. “Down in the morgue. I don’t think you should go, but I’m sure you’ll ignore whatever I tell you in regards to that.” It’s said mostly in a teasing manner, but there is an undercurrent of real concern there as well.

“Correct. I’ll head down now.”

“Will, wait.” He stops, and turns back to her expectantly. “The wards- you were definitely right. I have no idea how, but it’s just like a hole was torn into the barrier. I’m going to keep looking into it.”

“Thank you,” Will says softly. That’s a problem he can think about later, after he faces his crimes down in the morgue.

The whole crew is clustered around a body on a slab, undeniably human. Will stops in the doorway. He should have been expecting it but for some reason the thought had never even crossed his mind; transformation spells wear off, even after death. All that awaits him is a dead man. Beverly is looking at him with a morphing combination of amusement and worry, Zeller is openly staring, and Price seems entirely unfazed. Jack wheels over a stool, which Will sinks onto the second he is able to. His tail rests across his lap, fingers digging into the limb to stop it from moving. He cannot entirely disguise the way it wants to thrash.

“Randall Tier,” Jack says, gesturing to the body. “He worked in a museum nearby.”

“The part full of animal skeletons, of course,” Price says cheerily. “We’re waiting on DNA to confirm but based on what little dental we could get from the first scene, this is most likely the man who ripped apart the campers.”

“He thought himself an animal,” Will says quietly. He cannot take his eyes off the body, laying face up, eyes seeing nothing. He can see the start of the angry purple bruising and deep indentations where he had bitten down. “He was angry that I was given what he could never have.”

“Well, your plan worked.” Beverly is grimacing. “Killed by-” She stops. “Do I need to say it?”

Will says it for her. “Killed by excessive force to the neck, breaking it.”

“Think I could have you crack some walnuts for me?” The comment earns Price a look from Jack that could curdle milk. Unexpectedly, it makes Will laugh. 

Zeller looks wary. “Should he even be here?” he asks Jack.

It’s obvious that Beverly is about to say something, but Will cuts her off. “No, he’s right. Should I even be here? I’m the one who-”

“It could not have been more obviously self defense,” Jack answers flatly. “Even if it’s unorthodox, there’s no reason for Will not to be here.”

_Other than my mental health,_ Will stops himself from saying. The case was more important. “Want me to take a look?”

Something so surprising it feels impossible happens- Jack shakes his head. “No, I don’t think we need you to. This has to be our killer, and motive doesn’t matter if he’s dead.”

Will cocks his head to the side, curious. “Then why am I here?”

What he feels next is just as shocking as Jack’s refusal. Concern, genuine concern and regret- Jack wanted to see if he was okay. He doesn’t mention it. “Can you think of anyone, anyone at all that may have had the means and motive to let Tier inside your barrier?”

“No,” Will replies immediately. He had thought about this long and hard, mostly to stop himself from thinking about the larger issue of having just killed a man. “Maybe one or the other, but not both. Loved ones of people we’ve put away. Garden variety crazies. Literally anyone who watched the talk show. Lounds is the closest thing I have to an enemy, but I doubt she’d try to kill her cash cow.” He is starting, just barely, to shake. Being this close to the body is fraying his nerves, the desire to either flee or tear into it consuming him. But he cannot leave, because a thought shocks through him, lighting up his nerves like lightning. “The spell,” he murmurs. “What the hell kind of spell was he using?”

“We were kind of hoping you’d be able to tell us that,” Beverly shoots back. “You mentioned before that they usually add features, right? He was…”

“Almost entirely transformed,” Will finishes. “Like I was, but much further.”

Jack nods. “Normally the person who… did all that to you would be our first suspect, but…” He trails off, and no one picks up the thread left dangling. None of them, not even Will, had seen any of Hannibal’s attempts at magic, but Alana had told many of them enough stories to keep him well and truly off the suspect list forever.

“Someone must have worked backwards from the information we gave on the talk show.” The words coming out of Will’s mouth are trembling, cadence shifted, skewed. “Figured it out well enough to, to do this, to-” Nothing else emerges. The room is shrinking, pressing in as Will’s mind begins to slip. Something feels off, something is missing, something is _wrong wrong wrong-_

Beverly rescues him, as she has many times before. “There’s a metric shit ton of letters you’ve gotten since that segment aired. Most of them have been looked at already but it wouldn’t hurt to take another look, right Jack?”

He looks at Will with growing worry, but recognizes the escape for what it is and grants it to them. “I’ll have them sent up to your office, Will. Doctor Bloom is already heading out to speak with Madam Du Maurier; I’ll let you know what she comes back with.”

Will is in such a hurry to leave that he nearly sets off with his tail still hanging behind him. Beverly notices and catches it, following him out with it hanging in her hands like a bridal train. “I don’t think this is what the best man usually does,” she jokes.

“My best man would get me the fuck out of here,” he hisses through clenched teeth. They escape into the relative safety of his office to await the delivery of the letters.

“How are you doing?” The look on Beverly’s face is much more serious, now that they are alone. “Like actually doing.”

“Terribly,” Will smiles, laughing joylessly. “When I was- when he broke in, I was getting attacked by a rabid animal. Now I’ve been forced to confront the fact that what I killed was a person.”

She scowls. “I told Jack not to let you in there. He never listens.”

“No,” Will exhales, running a hand through his hair, “he doesn’t.”

The letters arrive shoved haphazardly into cartoonishly large burlap sacks. Most of them are worthless, some of them are amusing, and some of them actually sort of hurt. Will throws yet another letter calling Hannibal ‘manipulative and abusive’ onto the table which far more force than is strictly necessary.

Beverly picks it up, frowning as she scans it. “These must be hard to read, now that you’re _actually_ dating him.”

“I’m not-” Will snaps his mouth shut, automatic denial dying on his tongue.

“You’re right. I make out with all of my regular friends.”

“Okay I know there’s no way you saw…” Will trails off, realizing the trap he just walked into head-first, confirmed by the giant grin on Beverly’s face. “Look, I don’t know what the hell we’re doing,” he says honestly. “Haven’t really felt the need to ask.”

“No need for labels,” she elaborates. “Just remember, when you do decide to start using them-” she points a finger at herself. “Best man.”

“Best man,” Will sighs in agreement, pulling out another letter.

Hannibal picks him up in the evening. Will thinks it might be something he could get used to.

It’s good to be back in Wolf Trap. He walks from room to room, breathing deeply and remembering the scent of his home, like the forest after rain. There is a knock on the door. He answers it and is greeted with a great beast, a wolf stood on two legs. It reaches for him.

No, Will growls, not again, _not again._ He snarls and pulls the creature towards him, throwing it easily onto the floor and straddling the back of its thighs. _Not again._ He leans down, teeth to the beast’s neck, and bites until he hears the snap.

When he pulls back he sees Hannibal beneath him, limp and unmoving. No, he screams, as the air is filled with sirens and lights, no no no no-

Will wakes with a cry, thrashing and shaking. Hannibal is already awake beside him, trying to pull Will towards him but unable to until the man is awake and able to halt his twisting himself. He allows himself to be pulled into the broad chest, curling up with his knees tucked to his own torso, trembling and taking great heaves of breath. “I’m sorry,” he gasps. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Hannibal, I’m-”

Hannibal shushes Will, his hand stroking slowly through his hair. “There is nothing to apologize for,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of Will’s head. “Was it a nightmare?”

Slowly, Will nods. All of his energy is being spent trying to slow his breathing, calm the pattering in his chest. This is far from the first nightmare he has had, but he usually gets them after cases, and he had slept _so well_ the night before.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

Will can’t stop himself from doing so. “I killed you,” he rushes out. “I was home, and there was the beast, and I killed it and it was you.”

It’s almost imperceptible, but the hand resting on his back tightens. It travels down, slips under his t-shirt, finds the spot just above where his tail begins and rubs slow circles there. Will’s already unsteady breathing stutters further, and he turns his head and tucks his face into Hannibal’s neck. “As you can see, I’m quite alive.” The touch is intensely soothing. Part of Will wonders how one man’s touch can have such a profound effect on him, how something as simple as a hand in his hair can relax him so quickly.

As for the hand on his lower back, well, ‘relaxing’ isn’t the word Will would use to describe that one. His breathing steadies and his trembling ebbs, replaced by a warm, pleasurable sensation spreading through his bones. As he goes boneless and pliant, he nuzzles into Hannibal’s neck, feels the deep rumbling emerging from his chest. “You now know what you are capable of,” Hannibal murmurs, pressing even closer. “The power you hold frightens you.”

“Please don’t psychoanalyze me,” Will groans, already half-asleep. “Especially in bed.”

“Very well,” Hannibal relents with a quiet laugh. “Sleep, Will.”

And he does.

It ends up being four days before Will is able to go back to his house. The scene itself was cleared quite early on and the cleaners were finished the following day, but replacing the window was a longer process and the house would have been uninhabitable without it in the winter. Alana says she will meet him there.

“Oh, shit,” Will says suddenly. Hannibal glances at him from the driver’s seat. “My car’s a manual,” Will explains. “Won’t be able to drive it with…” he gestures at his ankle encased in a cast.

He sees Hannibal glance again, this time down between them, where the shifter would have rested if his car had been a manual and not an automatic. Will opens his mouth and speaks before Hannibal can even begin the offer he is clearly about to make. “Rental,” he says quickly. “I can just get a rental, can’t be more than two months.

Hannibal relents with a small nod. He has been oddly quiet, very clearly reluctant to take Will back to his own home. There are so many emotions swirling around said reluctance that Will cannot even begin to untangle them. He’ll miss it, honestly, the lazy mornings of waking slowly in the lavish bed, legs tangled with Hannibal’s, curled beneath his arms. Hannibal hadn’t even complained when Will’s cast had ended up on top of his foot and he had woken up with the limb asleep. It felt like it wasn’t enough.

But Will needed to be home, to know his house was safe once more. He is almost knocked clean over before he makes it out of Hannibal’s Bentley, a riptide of canines rushing around him. He stays where he is, seated in Hannibal’s passenger seat while he pets them all.

Will frowns. There’s only six. “Where’s Winston?”

“Beverly has him,” Alana says from the porch. “I meant to take them all but he wouldn’t budge from her side.”

His frown only deepens. Winston likes Alana, likes _everyone_ , and there was absolutely no reason why he would have refused to go with her. Maybe he had picked up on Beverly’s distress and decided she needed the company. The dogs part for Hannibal, who has Will’s bag slung over his shoulder and his crutches in his hand. Will takes them, ‘tsks’ at the dogs until they are no longer underfoot, and then makes his way into his house.

The cleaners did a good job. Too good, almost. His house is so sparkling clean that it feels alien. “I’ve repaired the wards,” Alana tells him. “Juiced them up a little too, with Du Maurier’s help. Beverly said she’d swing by later with Winston.”

“Will you be alright, Will?” Hannibal is dangerously close to hovering.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I- thank you. Both of you.”

“If you need anything, do not hesitate to call.”

Hannibal leaves so slowly it’s bordering on petulant. Will wants to ask him to stay, but he knows he has patients. He thinks he catches Alana shaking her head as she leaves.

Less than an hour later, Beverly arrives. Winston shoots out of her car the moment the door is open enough to let him out, bolting up the porch stairs and scrabbling at the door until Will lets him in. “Winston, hey buddy,” Will laughs, hands ruffling through the dog’s fur. 

“How are you doing?” Beverly asks, once she has swung her car door closed. “He was suspiciously well behaved, by the way.”

“Good boy!” Will coos. Beverly shoots him a look. “Fine, I’m fine.” The horrific nightmares were not remotely fine, but he didn’t feel the need to share those. He glances up. “Can you drive a stick?”

She could not, but she was a quick learner and only stalled the car twice before managing to pull it into Will’s seldom used barn. Thankfully there was space for it, as Will would have felt incredibly awkward asking Beverly to haul away half-assembled motors and various other mechanical items before putting his car away for the next couple of months. “How are you gonna get anywhere?” she asks him as they close and lock the barn doors.

“Hmm. How willing are you to do me another favor?”

“Will, you’re a good friend but I am _not_ playing chauffeur for god knows how long.”

“No, god,” Will laughs. “Can you take me to a rental place?”

She grins. “Only if we get pizza after. Gotta knock you back down a few pegs after you’ve been living off of the fine dining Lecter has been cooking up for you.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

The agent that comes to help him at the rental agency hesitates briefly, eyes widening. Will is never sure anymore if people react because they don’t know who he is or because they _do._ “There is, ah.” The agent pauses. “We will clean the car upon return, but if it is… excessively messy, there may be additional fees.” He is looking at Will’s tail as he speaks. Well, it’s certainly the latter, this time.

He thinks about it as he finds the cheapest car and drives it home while Beverly grabs them dinner. He thinks about it as he lets the dogs outside and watches them play in the snow. He thinks out it when Beverly walks in, two large pizza boxes in her hands, a bag of what can only be soda and breadsticks looped around her wrist. “Do I shed?”

She doesn’t even pause in the doorway, just continues on inside and sets everything down on the island. “Obviously. I know you know, I’ve seen you picking fur off your pants during some of Jack’s more boring lectures at work.”

“No, I-” Will swallows. “I mean, do I shed a _lot._ ”

Now she pauses, eyes roaming around the room, taking in the dusting of fur that has already accumulated. A non-trivial amount of is is long and light, far too much to have been entirely from the stomachs of the dogs he has with white bellies. How the hell did he never notice? “Pizza time,” she diverts, popping open the boxes.

The distraction works, momentarily. “Pesto and sausage?” Will murmurs, peering inside the one closest to him.

“It’s good, trust me. There’s a plain old pepperoni next to it too if you decide you’re too much of a snob now to appreciate it.” Both smell good- Beverly must have found a new pizzeria, as all the ones they have tried before have been painfully average. These are far more promising. They sit at the island and eat straight from the boxes.

Beverly was right, they _are_ good, and they’re several slices in before she finally answers his question. “Okay, so think of how much your dogs shed. Especially the shaggy ones. Your tail has got to be worth at least two dogs, minimum.” A look of horror must have blossomed across his face, because now she chokes back a laugh. “I know you don’t give a shit about your own place, so what’s the-”

His phone rings, the caller ID reading _Hannibal._ Will glances up at Beverly, who nods, and he answers the phone. “Did I get fur all over your house?” Will says immediately, before Hannibal can do so much as greet him. Across the island, Beverly nearly chokes on a bite of pizza.

There’s a long silence on the other end of the phone. “It is irrelevant,” Hannibal eventually replies, which means yes.

“God,” Will groans, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I didn’t- I didn’t even consider it until now.”

“Will,” Hannibal chides, tone light. “You know I keep my house clean. It is no trouble.”

“I know how bad fur gets. You could say I’m something of an expert in this matter. I didn’t even help you clean it up.”

A sigh. When Hannibal speaks next, his voice is low. “Darling, I would spend hours picking your fur out of my sheets if it meant you would be in my bed every night.”

Beverly is now openly staring, likely because Will has turned an alarming shade of red. He tries to respond in a way that is not outright dismissive but clues Hannibal into the fact that he has company. He manages a cough.

“You are not alone,” Hannibal says, catching on like always.

“Eating pizza with Bev,” Will chokes out, recovering somewhat. “You’d probably hate it.”

“A food is not inherently bad just for being greasy or messy. It just so happens that most offerings of this particular cuisine are sub-par.”

“Wait, are you saying that _you_ eat pizza?” He tries to picture Hannibal, sitting at his elegant dining table, pulling slices of pizza out of a box and holding it away from his body to avoid dripping grease onto his three-piece suit. “I bet you eat it with a fork and knife.”

Will can almost see the withering look Hannibal would have shot him had they been together. It makes him laugh. “If the food is structurally sound there is no need for cutlery.”

“You shouldn’t have told me that. I’m going to start sneaking frozen pizzas into your freezer.”

“Kindly refrain.”

He’s grinning now, ears perked up. “I bet this conversation didn’t go the direction you were hoping it would.”

“I enjoy every conversation with you, even if you do often derail them so terribly.”

“Part of the package.”

“I will learn to live with it. Have you settled in?”

“To the house I’ve lived in for five years? Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“You know what I mean, Will.”

Will looks around the room, sees his dogs curled up by the fire, sees his bed tucked away off to the side. He considered moving it back upstairs, but it was certainly not something he was capable of on his own right now and seemed like too much work in general. He’d find out tonight if it was a terrible mistake or not. “Yeah,” he repeats. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“Do not hesitate to call me if that changes.”

“Of course. Thank- again, thank you for all your help.”

“My reasons are not entirely altruistic. I simply enjoy having you in my home.”

Will laughs, softer and fond. “Even so, it doesn’t change the fact that you did it.”

In the brief pause, Will swears he can hear Hannibal’s brain shifting gears as the inner psychiatrist claws its way to the surface. “Do you believe that actions are more important than intentions?”

“Hannibal,” Will sighs, incredibly affectionate. “Fuck off.”

“As you wish,” and Will hears what can only be considered a _chuckle_. “Goodnight, Will.”

“Goodnight, Hannibal.” He hangs up the phone.

When he looks down, it’s into two far emptier pizza boxes. “Beverly, what the-”

“That was definitely a boyfriend call,” she interrupts. She points a breadstick at him accusingly. “Veering dangerously towards ‘been cohabiting for ten years but can’t find the right time to get married’ call.”

“How the hell did you eat this much pizza so quickly?”

She shrugs. “You snooze you lose. Don’t worry, I’m finished.” She turns the breadstick back towards herself and takes a bite. “So I take it it’s going well with the boytoy.”

“It’s been less than a week. I still don’t know what this is.”

“He called you darling.”

Will glances up, somewhat panicked. “Wait, could you hear the-”

It sets her off, and he has to wait for her to stop cackling to get an answer. “No, god, of course not, but you reacted to _something_ and it seemed like the kind of endearment he’d use. Did he really?”

“No comment.”

“Damn,” she grins, “I rule. So is he a good lay?”

Will had been working on a piece of crust, which promptly falls out of his hands and onto the floor. Busters inhales it before he can clean it up, and Will curses. “That is so far beyond your business that I’m tempted to kick you out of my house right this second.”

“You don’t know yet, got it. I’m sure he will be. Seems like the type to make sure he’s good at everything.” This is followed by an exaggerated waggle of her eyebrows. “ _Everything._ ”

“My sex life, lack of it or otherwise, is not up for discussion. Got it?”

“Alright, alright, fine.” She raises her hands in surrender. “I will respect your boundaries, even if they make you boring.” They condense the pizza into one box and close the lid before Beverly slips it into Will’s fridge. “I’m happy for you, though. Not the least bit surprised considering you two have been flirting for almost the whole time you’ve known each other, but I’m happy that you seem happy.”

It was a sweet sentiment, but as always, Will latches on to the least important part of it. “Flirting? Beverly, you know I don’t flirt with people.”

The look she shoots him borders on pity. “Okay, well even if you were doing it unconsciously, he sure as hell wasn’t.”

“If you were so sure about that, why were you just as surprised as I was when I overheard his conversation with Alana?” It comes out snappier than he intended, his mind racing. Had he seriously been being flirted with, flirted _back,_ this entire goddamn time? Christ, no wonder the transformation spell had worked.

“There’s a pretty big difference between casual flirting and genuine interest. He never seemed like he was interested in anyone. Don’t take that personally,” she amends hurriedly. “I guess it makes sense that if anyone was gonna get to him, it’d be you.”

Will blinks. “Because of the empathy thing?”

She looks at him, really looks at him, and finally just shakes her head. “Food’s done. Wanna get drunk? I can take the couch.”

Will finds, now, that he does. They drink long enough and late enough to regret it the next day. 

Nearly a week goes by. Will returns to work, though even the killers seem to have calmed down for the holidays. He spends most of his time working through the small pile of letters he’s saved that he actually wants to respond to, a desire that surprised even himself. Jack even gives them some extra time off, with the qualifier that they need to be ready to respond should anything happen.

He’s having a lazy day in with his dogs when he gets a call in the late afternoon. “Hey, Hannibal,” he answers, voice warm.

The two have spoken every day in some capacity, in person on the rarer occasions that Hannibal is at the BAU, and over the phone otherwise. “Hello, Will. Do you have any plans for tonight?”

“For a Thursday? No, I’m wide open.”

Hannibal makes a strange noise, one he can’t quite nail down the meaning of. “I would like to stop by this evening, if you are amenable.”

“Yeah.” It comes out soft, almost breathy. “Yeah, of course. Before or after dinner?”

“After, I believe. If you have nothing presently, I am not opposed to bringing something over with me.”

Will’s eyes track to the fridge, full to bursting with leftovers from a combination of Hannibal continuously making and bringing him food and well-wishers stopping by with meals of their own. “No, I have plenty of stuff from everything else you’ve made me. I’ll survive.”

“Very well. Is seven acceptable?”

“Seven’s good.”

“Then I shall see you then.”

“Hannibal, wait.” Will is looking outside now, at the gathering stormy clouds. “It’s supposed to snow tonight. You could get stuck here for the night.”

“I will make sure to plan accordingly.” No hesitation, not even a moment given to the consideration if he was welcome there overnight. Both of them knew that he was and always would be. “Tonight, Will.”

“Tonight,” Will agrees, and ends the call.

It’s difficult to sweep up the dog hair with his leg in a cast but he manages. Beverly had jokingly suggested that he should buy a roomba and he’s beginning to seriously consider it. Maybe a small fleet of them would do the trick.

When Hannibal arrives at precisely seven, snow has already begun falling. Will opens the door for the other man and immediately spots what appears to be a cake box hanging from his hands. “Hey,” Will greets again, since it seems to be the only think he can ever come up with. He’s leaning against the door in a way that may have been sultry if he wasn’t doing it to hold himself up since he hates using his crutches.

“Good evening,” Hannibal smiles at him, a subtle thing. He takes off his shoes and coat before leaning in and kissing Will, quick and chaste. “Do you have anything you can make us in the way of drinks?”

Will rolls his eyes as he hops over to the stove. “You can just tell me you liked that hot chocolate I made, Hannibal.” He pulls out the same ingredients before pausing. “Wait, I can do you one better.” Back in his liquor cabinet, somewhere nearly forgotten, he thinks he might have peppermint schnapps and some chocolate liqueur. He makes his way over.

He can hear Hannibal opening cabinets behind him, pulling out suitable plates and collecting silverware next. There, in the back, he finds the bottles he was looking for and makes a pleased noise. Just before he turns the stove on, something catches his eye, and Will turns.

There, resting on the island on top the carefully flattened cake box, rests a pristine white cake. The sides are far smoother than anything frosted with whipped cream has any right to be, and there is a swirling pattern piped with extraordinary care along the bottom. It’s crowned with a great many strawberries that Hannibal has cut into flowers, a field of roses sprouting from the snow. “I didn’t realize you baked as well,” is what Will manages to say.

“Not as frequently, and I admit I am less experienced with the dessert side of things.”

“Are you trying to say this is your version of amateur work?”

“Comparatively, yes.”

Will snorts and turns back to the stove. “I make cookies sometimes. Usually ends with me forgetting about them and burning the hell out of most of the batch.”

“Your mind does drift, yes. I imagine mine would as well if I had the empathy you do.”

Now, Will laughs. “Yeah, I like that. I’ll blame it on my magic. It’s a convenient excuse.”

“Do you not think that is a factor?”

He’s stirring the pot on the stove, waiting for the chocolate to melt before adding the alcohol. “Can’t really say for sure, but it’s not fair to write off the shortcomings I share with others as a result of something unique to myself. Why should I get a free pass?”

“Have you ever considered that it may simply be true?”

It rankles Will, and his ears tilt downward fractionally. “I’m not special, Hannibal. I’m just a human like everybody else.”

Hannibal joins him at the stove, apparently done with serving the cake. He is standing behind Will and runs a hand through his hair, scratching at the bottom of Will’s skull. “I would argue to the contrary, but I admit that I am not the most unbiased source.”

A breath of laughter slips out of Will. He leans back and is met with Hannibal’s broad chest, a hand curling around his waist to hold him in place. A puff of air and lips on his ear. “At least you’re honest about it, unlike Chilton and that lot. Can you grab a couple mugs? This is nearly ready."

The man behind him extricates himself so slowly that by the time he goes to bring down a pair of mugs, Will has to turn the burner off and move the pot to a cold one. He carefully tips the hot liquid into the waiting cups and they eat on the island, leaning against it and sipping at their drinks. The cake is soft, likely sponge instead of the more traditional shortcake. Tiny slivers of strawberry rest within the whipped cream separating the two layers, bracketing the sponge and allowing the juice to sink in. “God, this is good,” Will nearly moans. “I don’t know how you do this.”

Instead of a smart comment, Hannibal only smiles at him, something broad and pleased.

Once they have finished the dessert they move towards the fire, cradling the warm mugs in their hands. Hannibal has found a large blanket and they are safe within it, Hannibal with his back against Will’s bed and Will resting between his legs, pulled against his back as he holds the warm beverage and slowly drinks it. Hannibal never makes comments about his odd placement of furniture, never has. He doesn’t pull chairs around where he wants like Beverly does, or steer them towards the closest to normal parts of Will’s house like Alana tends to do. He goes where Will goes, even if that destination is the floor.

Hannibal’s mug sits off to the side, empty and abandoned. His hands are on Will’s tail, running along the entire length of the limb where it rests curled up between them, safe beneath the blanket. 

“Oh,” Will says softly, realization striking. “It’s Christmas Eve.”

A quick rush of air along the top of his head as Hannibal laughs. “Indeed,” he confirms.

“I bet you have some huge party planned for tomorrow, don’t you?”

“I do.”

There is a beat of silence. “You want me to come, don’t you.”

“I do.”

Will sighs, closes his eyes and leans back against Hannibal. The fire, the soothing touch, the alcohol, all of it is making him drowsy and loose. “Is that why you came here tonight? To try and convince me?”

“It may have been a factor,” Hannibal admits, “but a minor one.”

“I can’t wear a suit,” Will warns, far from a rejection. “No way I’m getting tailored pants over this cast.”

“The guests will understand.”

He yawns. “M’gonna be awkward.” His old southern drawl is creeping through. “Don’t know anyone but you.”

“I have extended invitations to the team at the BAU. Most of them will be attending.”

“Oh no,” Will groans, “not Beverly.”

“Including Ms Katz.” Confident hands pluck the mug out of Will’s hands and set it to the side. “Come. Let us sleep.”

Will is easily deposited in the bed while Hannibal cleans up and puts everything away. He’s nearly asleep by the time the other man is in bed but remains conscious enough to curl up against him before falling away entirely.

When he wakes, it’s slowly, and against a field of his own jagged fur. This happens sometimes, when he tosses and turns, his tail will be tangled up around him and fur sticking every which way. He grooms it, eyes closed, setting the fur back in place with practiced fingers. It springs away nearly immediately and Will frowns, eyes still shut. It’s particularly stubborn this morning, but he has dealt with this as well. He licks his palm and runs that along the fur, letting the saliva help to set the fur back in place, adding more as he goes. It still isn’t working. He’s done this once before, ended with a mouth full of fur but a nice neat tail, leans forward with his tongue out, why does his bed feel so strange today-

“Will.” A hand is placed across his forehead, halting his progress. “While I cannot say I am opposed, I suspect that you will not be as pleased with your actions if you continue.”

Will’s eyes blink open as he looks down, tongue still hanging out of his mouth, to where he had been grooming Hannibal’s (rather impressive, he notes) chest hair. Sometime in the night, Hannibal had clearly rolled onto his back and Will had followed, sprawled himself across the other man’s chest ungracefully. Hannibal had worn a buttoned up pajama shirt to bed and whether it had come partially undone during the night or Will had done it in his sleep, no one could say for sure. He jerks back like he has been burned, tail swishing behind him in agitation. “Hannibal, christ-”

“Grooming oneself is quite natural behavior for most felines, rest assured.” He’s probably about to launch into a whole spiel but Will escapes to the bathroom and hears none of it.

“Well this may be the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done,” Will grumbles to himself, hands clenched on the sink. “Top five, minimum.” He splashes water on his face until something comes back to him, Hannibal’s words. _I cannot say I am opposed._ He would have let him, maybe even liked it. It sends a small shiver down his spine and he files that tidbit of information later. He doesn’t think they’re at the ‘grooming each other’s chest hair’ stage of their relationship, not yet.

When he emerges, not quite making eye contact, Hannibal has done up the buttons on his shirt. “I must leave soon, I am afraid. I have much to do to prepare and would like to be home when the caterers arrive.”

The comment halts Will in the door frame. “How big is this party, Hannibal?”

His question is handily ignored. “How early do you believe you can attend?”

“Not until dinner, probably. I’ll let you know if I can make it earlier.”

Hannibal nods. “Do let me know.”

He leaves less than an hour later, pressing a kiss to the top of Will’s head as he goes.

Later, in the early evening, Will is weighing the pros and cons of something. 

He can’t show up in sweatpants, wouldn’t do that to Hannibal, but a small part of him does want to just to see the look on the other man’s face. There, shoved in the bottom of his closet are some larger pairs of slacks Hannibal had brought with the rest, presumably to allow him the room to hide his tail if he desired. Considering how open he had been about it recently, he didn’t think he would be wearing them anytime soon. Would Hannibal be more upset that he ruined a pair of nice slacks or that he shows up undressed to the point of embarrassment? 

Will sighs, because Hannibal wouldn’t be upset either way. He paws around his options until he finds what strikes him as the best balance between ‘nice looking’ and ‘not actually extremely nice’ and attempts to pull them on.

It’s close, but he’s able to force it over the cast, though he hears minor tearing as he goes. A quick inspection confirms that any damage is either unnoticeable or will be covered by the walking boot once he straps it on. It looks almost like a normal boot and he has absolutely no idea where Hannibal managed to find it.

Wearing the tux jacket with basic slacks seems a bit too jarring, so he roots through his closet for a nice blazer instead. He has one in a darker grey, one he bought himself before he sprouted ears and a tail, along with a matching tie shot through with blue. Considering something, he hobbles into the bathroom to pull out the product he had used at the opera, fixing his hair back close to had it had been that evening. He’s not thinking about how much Hannibal had seemed to like it the first time.

He shoots Hannibal a text to let him know he’s leaving, gives the dogs enough food for the night and lays down some training pads just to be on the safe side. Maybe he can teach Winston to open the door and let the dogs out to use the bathroom one of these days; he certainly seems smart enough. Will shakes his head and tells himself to stop being crazy and go to the party.

His anxiety only grows as he drives, imagining all the people that will be there, everyone he does not know. Then he’s on the doorstep, Hannibal opens the door and gives him an appreciative once-over and smiles, and the anxiety recedes. 

It’s clear that most of the guests arrived earlier, though dinner has not yet been served. Will realizes with a jolt that he has never actually seen one of these grand parties of his before, long tables dragged out into the sitting rooms blanketed with countless appetizers, flanked by what might be honest-to-god champagne towers. “You ever have to kick someone out because they knocked one of those over?”

Hannibal can see exactly where Will was going with this and cuts him off before he can mention it. “I do not plan on kicking you out for any reason, though I may see fit to lock you in the study if you prove to be particularly destructive.”

Will laughs. “I’ll behave, I promise. Didn’t have to shave or anything so you’re _probably_ safe.”

Hannibal guides him around the party with a hand on his lower back, something that is hampered somewhat due to the crutches Will is using. He isn’t carrying his tail in his mouth tonight, wouldn’t dream of doing that in a room full of people he doesn’t know, so he is walking with it draped over an arm on the side Hannibal is not occupying. It’s a bit cumbersome and sometimes he pinches his tail but it’s nothing he can’t endure.

For a brief hanging moment Will thinks Hannibal is actually going to go around introducing him to everyone, but he simply shows Will around the place, pointing out the main points of interest. “I do believe Ms Katz is somewhere near the fire. Now, I must excuse myself to mingle, something I will once more spare you from.”

“Thank you,” Will smiles, and Hannibal presses a quick kiss to his cheek before slipping away. He makes his way to the fire and finds not Beverly, but Brian, standing at the edges of the room and sipping far too rapidly at the flute of champagne he’s holding. It’s possible Will has found the only person at this party that feels more out of place than he does. Zeller looks up and the relief in his eyes when he sees Will is palpable. It’s enough to drive him to raise a hand in greeting and hobble over, because if Brian is comforted by _his_ presence he must really be in a bad way.

“No Price?” Will offers instead of a greeting.

“Hey, it’s not like we’re sewn together at the hip, alright?” Brian sighs and takes a long pull of the drink. “He’s got a big family, usually goes and play Santa for all the kids.” Will isn’t quite sure what sort of look slips through on his face, but whatever it is it makes Brian snort and wave his hand back and forth. “Nieces and Nephews. I sort of regret coming here by myself.”

Will cocks his head to the side. “Then why did you?” It’s not cruel, only curious.

“Same reason Beverly did. Well, her main reason anyways. The food. It felt kinda weird declining it when I really didn’t have any plans, either.” He pauses, looks back towards Will and scrunches up his face. “Should I be telling you this? I mean, you’re-”

“I’m not gonna tattle on you,” Will sighs. “He’d probably just find it funny, regardless.”

“So did. Uh. Did the-”

“Your advice worked, yeah,” Will interrupts. He would rather not have this be openly discussed in the middle of one of Hannibal’s extremely fancy parties. “They kept coming, in the end. Had to have someone teach me a spell to keep them away altogether.” Bedelia had remained as cooly aloof as always as she helped him learn the simple spell. Part of him wondered if she used her magic to keep herself so even keeled.

Brian makes a small noise, then his eyes track behind Will, somewhere off in the distance. “You seen Beverly yet?” Will shakes his head. “Well, you’re about to.”

On cue, a heavy hand claps on Will’s shoulder, nearly knocking him off balance. “Evening, Graham,” Beverly rasps, voice pitched low in a surprisingly accurate imitation of Jack. He turns to face her, sees her burdened with two more flutes and a tray stacked impressively high with appetizers. “Saw you come in,” she grins at him, handing him one of the drinks. 

Will adjusts himself until he can lean against the wall and prop his crutches up behind him, leaving his hands free. He takes the drink and snags something off the plate that’s covered in goat cheese. The cracker is crisp in his mouth, lightly seasoned. “How do you think Hannibal would react if I sat down for dinner and just had a plate full of these?”

“Poorly, I’d guess. You look smart. Can you see okay?”

“Just don’t ask me to read anything off a label and we should be fine.”

“So,” she begins, and a wicked smile grows across her face. “What were you getting up to last night?”

“That’s my cue to leave,” Brian mutters, pulling the plate out of Beverly’s hands before beating a hasty retreat.

“Aw man, that took me forever to make.”

“I’d argue karma, but.” Will takes a drink, keeping his face neutral. “What makes you think I was up to anything?”

“Because I called you multiple times to see if you wanted to get drunk and it went straight to voicemail.”

Will winces. He had turned his phone off when Hannibal had arrived, Jack and co be damned. “Okay, yeah, he came over. Brought a cake.”

The look on Beverly’s face changes, softens into something more serious. “A cake? Did it happen to be a yellow sponge cake, whipped cream frosting with strawberries?”

“What?” Will looks at her, startled. “Yeah, how did you know?”

“Oh, dude.” She’s smiling now, genuine and broad. “He has it bad, doesn’t he.”

“I still don’t know what that means, Beverly.”

“It’s a Japanese thing. Christmas over there, especially Christmas Eve, is a romantic holiday. You’re supposed to spend the day with your significant other and get one of those cakes to share.”

“Oh.” Will is absolutely turning red now, and he looks away. “Oh, jesus. Okay. Why do you even know about that? You’re not Japanese.”

“Neither is Hannibal,” she points out, quite reasonably. “And I’ve never even left the country outside of work so if that had been your reasoning it would have been double racist.”

“Beverly,” Will groans, and she laughs.

“I dated a Japanese chick around the holidays once. Didn’t work out, but damn was that a good cake. Did he make it himself?”

Will rubs a hand across his face. “Yes.” Beverly begins to whistle, something that sounds suspiciously like ‘Bridal Chorus’. “You wore that dress for Christgivingween, didn’t you?” Will is grasping desperately at straws, trying everything to change the subject, Luckily, it works.

“I can wear something twice,” she frowns.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I barely recognized it without all the accents, is all. Didn’t even realize it was stuff you added. You did a really good job with it.”

“Hmm.” Beverly taps her finger along her jaw, pretending to think. “Alright, you’ve flattered me enough to make me change the subject. “Does his house usually look like this?”

It did not. All traces of horned skulls had been removed, presumably hidden away for the night, and festive decorations had been hung in their places. Will begins to explain this, and it somehow manages to eat up all the time until dinner is served.

The table in the dining room seems to stretch forever. Hannibal sits at the head, with Will at his right and Alana at his left. Beverly is beside Will, and further down that line comes Zeller, Jack, and then Jack’s wife, Bella. Will is somewhat surprised to see Bedelia seated next to Alana, but beyond that it’s just a long line of people he’s never seen in his entire life. Sprinkled within are people he recognizes from the opera and wants nothing less than to interact with. Unlike the table of appetizers, everyone has a pre-assembled and presented series of plates, some with variance due to the guests diet. It’s impressively personalized. Will thinks his meat might be different than everyone else’s, based on the scent alone. This is confirmed when he bites into it and recognizes it to be goat. Presumably, Hannibal had thought it to be a bit too adventurous or perhaps even too logistically difficult to serve as the actual main dish. Will notices that Hannibal is watching him, waiting to see his response, and ends up smiling around the fork before he can even look up.

Throughout the dinner, Will feels countless eyes on him, almost entirely barbed with curiosity. One feels sharper than the rest, more aggressive and judgemental. Will does his best to ignore it.

Once dinner has finished everyone disperses out to mingle further, loosened by the alcohol and good food. This time, Hannibal stays with Will. “I am glad that you have come,” he whispers, low and into Will’s ear.

He swats Hannibal away, lets out a breathy laugh. “Thanks for the special meal, doctor. I hope I’m not too underdressed.”

“Would you be offended if I told you that you are dressed nicer than I had been expecting?”

Will snorts. “Depends on if it’s because of the cast or my personality.”

“The cast, I assure you.”

“Some of those slacks you got me were large enough that I could force the cast through. Not entirely sure how I’m gonna take them back off, though. Enough seams ripped that they’re done for anyways. Could probably just cut them off.” He hears a quick intake of breath and glances up, assuming he’ll be met with mild outrage.

The feeling of the emotion hits him the same time he sees it in Hannibal’s eyes. It’s not outrage, and there’s nothing mild about it. Will swallows hard. “That can be arranged,” Hannibal murmurs, voice low and rough.

The moment is shattered by a commotion near the entranceway, culminating in the opening of a door, a large thud, and the loud closing of said door. Hannibal hurries over, Will trailing behind at a much slower pace. It’s difficult to hear over the collective din of the party, but Will manages to make out “...thrown out my guest, Jack?”

When he rounds the corner, he sees Jack and Hannibal, who spot him as well. Jack motions forward to Hannibal, who leans down and lets Jack whisper something in his ear, low enough that Will cannot overhear it. It makes his ears twitch in irritation. Hannibal straightens, face tight. “Then I must thank you for your service, Jack. I will not be inviting Mr Bellamy back.” He strides over, practically picks Will up and turns him around before leading him away.

“What the hell just happened, Hannibal?” Will glances over his shoulder, sees Bella speaking soothingly to her husband. 

“A former guest made some unacceptable comments and was removed from the premises.”

Will blinks, thinks of the way Jack hid his words from him. “About us?” Though Hannibal’s social circle seemed to be very accepting so far, there were still plenty of bigots in the world. Adding on top of that, while Will was far from white trash, he also wasn’t anywhere near Hannibal’s level as far as social status went. 

Hannibal’s mouth is pulled into a tight line. “About you, I’m afraid.”

Oh. _Oh._ “No animals at the dinner table?” Will guesses with a sardonic smile. He can tell from Hannibal’s reaction that he’s hit home.

He considers how that makes him feel. It should probably upset and offend him, but the logic behind it is so incomprehensible that it wraps back around into mild interest. What sort of person would be holding onto such a strange and specific worldview? He supposes it makes sense that if anyone was offensive enough to jump start a whole new branch of prejudice it’d be him. “Will,” Hannibal says softly, jolting the other man out of his reverie. “Are you upset or drifting?”

“Drifting,” he answers quickly. “Trying to wrap my head around it. Probably shouldn’t bother.”

“It is not worth the time spent examining it,” Hannibal agrees.

They end up, as always, in front of the fireplace, together on the couch. Will can hear the party dying down around them, even hear people leaving by the open and close of the front door. “Shouldn’t you be bidding all your guests farewell?” When Hannibal’s response is an honest-to-god _shrug_ it rips laughter out of Will where he is leaning against the other man’s shoulder. He has to be sitting at an angle, tilted and resting most of his weight on Hannibal’s body in order to stop himself from sitting on his tail.

“Everyone here is an adult. They will understand.”

“Mmm. Yeah, I noticed no kids. They get left at home?”

“Those with families were not asked to attend, due to the date.” A hand rises upwards, fits itself into Will’s softening hair and combs through it. He hadn’t used much product and it had barely lasted through the evening. “It was made very clear that this was a party for adults only. I cannot imagine there being any hard feelings amongst those not invited.”

“Couldn’t you have held it yesterday instead, on Christmas Eve, and had everyone attend?”

“Yes, and historically I have done so.”

Will shifts, settles in closer to Hannibal. “Then why the change?”

Hannibal pulls lightly on Will’s hair, causing the other man to tilt his head upwards so their eyes meet. “Because I would rather spend the Eve with you.”

Emotions are washing over Will like a waterfall and he finds he cannot hold the gaze any longer. He tilts his head back down and nuzzles closer, a small, high noise escaping him without his permission. Something like this, the kind of party Hannibal throws, it requires a great deal of planning and the invitations would have been sent out far in advance. Long before- before Tier, before he was attacked, before he finally stopped pretending. This wasn’t a public gesture. It didn’t fit into the public persona they had been putting on, it was something absolutely no one would have known about, it was a huge concession he had made to Will long before anything happened between them, for no reason other than his own desire to do so-

Will closes his eyes, focuses on the hand stroking through his hair. The position is growing awkward, something Hannibal apparently agrees on because he shifts Will, turns him around until he’s half in his lap, chest to chest. His hands lift, anchor themselves onto Hannibal’s shoulders as he tucks himself in closer. Over the sound of his own purring Will can hear the rhythmic opening and closing of the front door as the guests all file out. It’s briefly louder, but he doesn’t even stir. Together, the soothing touches and the fading noises lull him into sleep.

When he wakes he is in Hannibal’s bed, curled around the other man’s back. He blinks his eyes open, vision bleary from sleep and his own poor eyesight, but can make out the clock well enough to see that it’s sometime in the late morning. _The dogs,_ he thinks, and then sits bolt upright and repeats it out loud.

“Beverly has taken care of them,” Hannibal groans, woken by the sudden movement. He shifts and finally sits up, rumpled and still somewhat slow.

“When did I fall asleep?” Will glances down at himself. He has a loose t-shirt on, one that’s large enough that it can only be Hannibal’s, along with the loose slacks. “God, sorry.”

“Do not apologize. You drifted off by the fire and I saw no reason to wake you.” Hannibal seems to be fully awake now, standing and opening the curtains to let the light in. “I did attempt to remove your pants, but I fear you are right about needing to cut them away. Doing it while you were fast asleep seemed entirely too inappropriate.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s not gonna be sexy now is it,” Will grumbles, not entirely aware that he is speaking out loud. It shocks a laugh out of Hannibal. “How did…” he frowns. “How did you you know Beverly was taking care of the dogs? Did she- please don’t tell me that she walked in and saw us like that.”

“She looked quite shocked,” Hannibal confirms. “Did not seem to be aware that you were capable of purring, based on her reaction.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t make a habit of it. She’s never gonna let me hear the end of it,” Will groans, rubbing his hands over his face. “You’ve got trauma shears somewhere, right? Think you could give me a hand with this?”

Hannibal did, and it was still a _little_ sexy. The look on his face as he cut the pants away gave the impression that he very much wanted to revisit this later. Will _did_ have a lot of now useless pairs of pants. He could probably arrange something.

“I don’t believe I have anything here that would fit you,” he muses, looking through his drawers for pants that won’t fall off when left to rest lower, beneath Will’s tail. Figures he wouldn’t have anything with a drawstring. “There may be something in the guest bedroom down the hall.”

“I’ll go check,” Will volunteers. “You can take the bathroom first.” Hannibal nods and vanishes into the ensuite, leaving Will to lumber down the hall to the aforementioned room. He opens the door and freezes, tail dropping from his mouth as it falls open.

The room is carefully filled with all the horned skulls Hannibal had temporarily removed from his decor. There are so many, all lined up neatly, great curving things, and Will finds he cannot look away. His tail begins to swish back and forth behind him as his eyes widen with excitement.

Hannibal’s voice fades in from down the hall. “Will, wait, I had forgotten-”

He ends up having to bodily remove Will from the doorway, picking him up easily around the waist and ignoring the irritated hiss he produces in the way of protest. He returns later to collect the crutches from where they had clattered to the floor along with a pair of pants that Will can actually wear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to date this but I actually did write the Christmas scenes in mid-December. It ended up crossing wires in my brain or something because for the next two weeks I was convinced every day was Christmas Eve.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally time for the case! I went out of my way to make the killer as... cartoonishly evil as possible, honestly, so he 'says' some pretty foul things through Will. I've (hopefully) tagged for all of it but please tell me if I've missed something! I will say that there is never any usage of slurs, so don't worry about that in particular. 
> 
> There is definitely a tonal shift starting with this chapter, so don't be caught off guard by it.

December bleeds into January with the only real event of note being when Hannibal not only attends Beverly’s new years eve party, but actually dresses down for it. He kisses Will when the clock strikes midnight.

January slips into February before Will admits that he might have a problem with something.

Hannibal has been a model partner, doting on Will constantly, and the pair spend many nights at either man’s house, curled up in front of the fire. The nights are calming, Hannibal’s hands in his hair, Will slowly loosening and drifting off to sleep. Will doesn’t think he’s slept this well in his entire life, and that’s the problem.

Every night, without fail, Will falls asleep. It doesn’t matter what he plans, the heated looks they exchange over dinner, it always ends with Hannibal petting him into oblivion. He doesn’t dislike it, far from it in fact, but he’s starting to go a little stir crazy and has absolutely no idea how to bring it up. Hannibal seems perfectly happy with how they exist now. Any time he doubts that Hannibal holds a physical interest in him, his brain tracks back to the nights he hadn’t drifted off as quickly, the nights when he can feel Hannibal leaning down to whisper in his ear, the hard outline of the older man’s cock jutting into his thigh. Even then, he cannot shake the fog of sleep and bring himself to do anything about it.

A large part of him is terrified of what the conversation with Hannibal would even be like. All he hears in his head is that deep, accented voice telling him  _ I will be happy with whatever arrangement you desire, dear Will, but if there is something you would like to alter… _

When he gets the cast removed mid-February, he takes a stack of letters with him so he doesn’t fall prey to the temptation of asking Hannibal how good his chances of a congratulatory quickie are once they get back to someone’s home. He thinks he might be losing it, just a little bit.

“Have you started a fan club, Will?”

Will blinks and looks up at Hannibal, peering down at his letters with curiosity. Right, he hasn’t seen Will do this before. “Uh, you could probably argue that, but no. Ever since we went on that talk show I started getting a bunch of mail sent to Quantico. Sometimes I reply.” He laughs at the look it produces on Hannibal’s face.

“Forgive me, but this does not seem particularly… in character, for you.”

Will just shrugs. “I try to reply to all the kids, at the very least. Some of the people that write have good reasons to want what they do. Some of them don’t want to be animals at all.” He sighs, sets the pen he was holding down. “Sometimes I feel like… I won a lottery I never even bought a ticket for. The least I can do is try to help them in whatever way I can.”

The look Hannibal has now is something close to awe, which Will really doesn’t think he deserves. “You are truly remarkable.”

Will narrowly stops himself from replying with  _ remarkable enough to fuck? _ , mostly because the doctor is coming back with his x-ray results and a smile on her face. His cast opens to reveal a staggering amount of fur, which he had expected, and what the doctor describes as an ‘alarming’ amount of loose change. His foot and the part of his leg that had been covered are shriveled, alien things it hurts to look at. “Think there’s enough change in there for a soda?”

He hears Hannibal’s sigh, but leaves the doctor’s office with a much more reasonable crutch and what he has taken to calling his ‘foot soda’, if only for the grimace it pulls out of Hannibal. They’re nearly back to the Bentley when Will’s phone rings.

“Will,” Jack’s voice greets him, “you done at the doctor’s? We have a body I need you for.”

There had been cases, quite a few of them in fact, but none of them had been particularly hard to look at or difficult to solve. Something about the tone of Jack’s voice makes Will think that their lucky streak has finally ended. He gets the address and relays it to Hannibal, who has already clued into what is going on.

It’s a cattle ranch, the cows mooing anxiously as Will walks past. The doors of the barn are thrown open and he can see a body hanging from the rafters. Jack nods at them as they duck under the police tape, calling for everyone to clear the area. Hannibal shuts the barn doors behind them.

A man is hanging from the rafters, arms spread out to the side and held there with the same ropes tying him to the ceiling. Behind him are the great, beautiful wings of a dragonfly, shaped out of wire and shards of sparking glass and ceramic. “Hannibal,” Will calls softly, and once he feels the hand on his shoulder he closes his eyes, then opens them.

_ Idiot, you’re so fucking misguided and stupid, how the hell could you ever think this was for you? Just because you think you’re one thing doesn’t make it true, stop pretending, you’re wasting what you are, you can’t see what you are, it’s so obvious to everybody else, you’re so worthless that I have to show you myself what you should be, what you actually are- stop, please stop, what gives you the right, don’t end it like- _

Will takes a great shuddering breath as the light in his eyes fades away and he comes back to himself. The world dulls and loses its golden glow. “Fuck,” he whispers. “ _ Fuck. _ ”

When they open the doors to the barn, Jack is waiting just outside, a grim look on his face, like he already knows what Will is going to tell him. “It’s bad,” Will hisses. His ears are back and his tail is swishing on the ground. “I could barely hear the victim over the killer’s ego. There’s no way they won’t kill again.”

“Got anything that can help us right away?”

Will shakes his head. “It will probably snap into place once I know more about the victim. The killer didn’t use any kind of magic so there’s nothing to follow that way either.”

It’s almost hesitant, but Jack nods. “Victim is Travis Hillsworth, 48. He’d been working at this ranch for three decades. Think you’re up for some interviews before we take the body back to the lab?”

Will glances to Hannibal, who inclines his head slightly. He didn’t have any patients today, but Will didn’t want him to get sucked in any further than he was willing to be. “I believe my identification is in the car.”

Once Hannibal has retrieved it they make their way across the farm, speaking to everyone they can find. Most have alibis and none of them have motive. Hillsworth was well liked, almost everyone expressing genuine grief at his passing, the ones that didn’t simply not knowing him very well. “He was saving money,” a woman sobs. “Said he was finally doing something he’d put off for a long time.”

Will raises an eyebrow and exchanges a look with Hannibal. “Did he ever say what he was saving for?”

She blows her nose on a tissue. “No, just that he was saving. Amy would probably know. They’ve been together for so long.”

“Where might we find this Amy?” Hannibal interjects.

They are given her address, at least vaguely, along with her full name before the woman breaks down. “Oh, lord,” she weeps. “Who the hell is gonna tell her? She’ll never be the same.”

At that, Will grimaces, because he knows it will be them.

A quick search gives them Amy’s full address, and after a word with Jack they’re on their way. They park in front of a pristine white cottage, a multitude of distinct red hummingbird feeders having empty from the large tree in the front yard. There must be swarms of them in the spring. Empty flowerbeds are barely visible beneath the snow, and when Will blinks he can see them filled with colorful flowers, the kind he knows without asking would attract the fragile birds.

The woman that opens the door is older, hair done up in a messy bun. She wears a paint stained apron and eyes them with a measure of suspicion. “How may I help you?” she asks.

Will pulls out his badge. “Will Graham, FBI, and this is Dr Hannibal Lecter, a consultant for us. May we come in?”

She lets them in and makes them tea, sweet and steaming, before Will tells her. They let her get it out of her system, cry until it fades away, before asking questions. “Why the FBI?” she finally says. 

“The death is… unusual,” Will says as carefully as possible.

“No.” She shakes her head. “Don’t you usually send the cops to do this sort of thing? Inform the- the widow,” she sobs, head in her hands. “You have questions, don’t you.”

Hannibal takes over. “Some of his co-workers mentioned he was saving money for something. Do you have any idea what that may be?”

“He wouldn’t tell me,” she whispers. “Said it was a surprise.”

Will waits for her to continue, but she does not. “But…?” he eventually prompts.

“Fliers. I found some fliers for all kinds of magician’s shops. He was never into that kind of thing, could never- could never figure out why he had ‘em.”

“Do you remember any of the names?”

“I, um. Wordsworth’s Wonders was one, I remember that one because it was so silly. Another sounded elegant, DeLa, D something, Du…”

“Du Maurier?” Hannibal suggests, and when the woman nods her head it finally snaps into place.

“A transformation potion,” Will murmurs. “He was saving up for a transformation potion.” He looks outside, sees the red objects hanging from the tree like bloody icicles. “For a hummingbird.”

The sound that comes out of Amy then sticks with Will for a long time.

They’re going over the results of the autopsy, Price and Zeller putting on their routine as Will avoids looking at the body. “He was very healthy for his age, in incredible shape,” Price mentions. “If it wasn’t for the glasses you could probably say he was the perfect specimen of a human being.”

Zeller continues. “Cause of death was a stab wound, right in the stomach. Painful and slow.”

Will’s mouth curls up but he holds back the snarl. “The killer is… so confident in his worldview that anything contradicting it has to be wrong.”

“He’s the picture of traditional manliness,” Price adds. “Tall, well built, works on a ranch. One of the good old boys.”

“The thought that he wanted to change into a  _ hummingbird  _ of all things was offensively wrong to the killer. He probably considered the dragonfly to be a compromise.”

“But why an insect?” Beverly muses. “Plenty of manly animals that aren’t also bugs.”

Will’s brows knit together. “The glasses,” he says slowly. “Just because of the glasses. Bug eyes.”

“You get anything useful, Katz?” Jack asks.

She shakes her head. “The wings are made of what’s essentially garbage, and I got nothing off the clothes. Didn’t leave a trace behind.”

“Someone so crude didn’t leave a trace behind?” Jack wonders aloud. He’s frowning.

“He’s not stupid,” Will elaborates. “He’s just so arrogant that he’s incapable of considering the possibility that he may be wrong or anything less than perfect.”

“Great,” Beverly mutters. “This is gonna be a fun one.”

“Will he kill again?” Jack is looking at Will now, face set into a grim mask that means he already knows that he will.

“Undoubtedly. We should try to… it won’t be easy, but see if we can look into people who are trying to purchase transformation spells. There’s no guarantee he’ll kill for the same reason again, but I think it’s likely.” He looks back at the body, the man who was apparently murdered simply for not fitting into a pre-made mold. “We need to catch him quickly, before he does more damage than we can ever hope to fix.”

The case is grating on Will, rubbing his already frayed nerves raw. Every time he closes his eyes he sees Amy’s face twisted in grief, sees the dead man hanging from the rafters, forced to change into something he wasn’t. He knows they have no chance of stopping the killer before they find another victim, and, ultimately, that’s what eats at him the most.

Hannibal notices, of course. They’re eating dinner at the older man’s house, the anxiety in the air almost a physical thing. “Will. You need to stop dwelling on this.”

“I can’t,” Will snaps, “you know I can’t. It’s my  _ job _ to dwell on this until I figure it out. It’s not something I can just turn off.”

“Not even for dinner?” 

Will’s eyes flick upwards, studying Hannibal’s face. Sometimes he feels like Hannibal’s ability to compartmentalize is as much of a hindrance to the man as it was a strength. The ceiling could cave in and as long as it missed the table he would ask them politely to finish the meal before dealing with the problem. “No,” he apologizes. “Sometimes I can leave them behind but… not this one. I need to catch him, Hannibal.”

“What is it about this one that is causing you to feel so strongly? There has only been one victim and you are already reacting as if there are twenty.”

He’s finished most of his dinner, but the circumstances and the conversation are sapping away his desire to finish the rest. “It doesn’t matter how many people he’s already killed, Hannibal. I catch these people because they’re dangerous, not because they hit some abritrary murder limit.”

“Of course,” Hannibal concedes. He appears to have finished his meal and has focused his attention entirely on Will. He waits, because he knows Will has more to say.

“The killer is… so offensively wrong, while being convinced that he could not possibly be anything other than correct. He makes poorly informed, surface level judgements about people and accepts them as fact. Everything points towards a rapid escalation.”

Speaking with Hannibal about cases has always been helpful, even when Will is shaking apart at the seams. The psychiatrist remains calm even in the most stressful situations, keeping Will focused and gently guiding him in the right direction. What he does now, however, is open his mouth and say possibly the cruelest thing he has ever said to Will. “Have you considered that what is angering you is not the actions of the killer, but the fact that you are uniquely equipped to see just how incorrect he is?”

It takes a second for the words to sink in, mostly due to how unexpected they are. Once their meaning hits, Will’s hands curl into fists, his ears flatten back against his skull, and a much less pleasant rumbling is seeping out from deep within his chest. “Are you suggesting,” he grinds out, teeth bared, “that I am upset not because people are dying, but because the killer is  _ wrong? _ ” He stands suddenly, his chair scraping along the floor harshly. “Go fuck yourself, Hannibal.” As he turns and leaves, rips his coat out of the closet and pulls the jangling keys out and into his hand, he neither sees nor hears any trace of Hannibal attempting to stop him. Perhaps the other man can tell just how badly he has upset Will. He drives home with his hands tight on the steering wheel, teeth clenched together as the flash of anger drains away, leaving only a smoldering rage in its wake. It’s smaller but no less potent.

The dogs are excited to see him, having not expected him back for the night. “That makes all of us,” he mutters to them, scratching all the heads he can reach. He can see Winston watching him, head cocked to the side. “I know,” he sighs. “I stormed out like a child. But I don’t think I can look at him right now.”

Winston says nothing.

The next day, Will does not contact Hannibal, and Hannibal does not contact him. He knows the man has patients that day and will not be joining them at Quantico. Something about his demeanour must be noticeably off because Beverly keeps trying to ask him about it, and he feels a little bad about how he brushes her off every time.

It’s not really a surprise when, that night, Will hears a familiar car pull into what passes for his driveway. Hannibal is standing on his porch when he opens the door, a large basket and several blankets hooked over his arm. The sight of him sends a sharp spark of irritation through Will and he considers slamming the door. Instead, he speaks, but it’s harsh. “What do you want, Hannibal?” 

“To apologize, I suppose.” Hannibal is standing like the very concept of apologizing makes him uncomfortable, and ultimately that is the reason Will steps back and lets him inside. He lets Hannibal set the items down on the kitchen island but does not offer to help, does not speak, only leans back against the sink and watches him. When the words come, they are hesitant and careful. “What I said… offended you.”

“You implied that I was bothered by the case because the killer was inaccurate, not because he  _ killed someone. _ ”

Hannibal looks away. “I realize now that it was an incorrect assessment.” After that, he falls silent.

Now, Will is waiting, but it doesn’t seem like Hannibal has any further plans to speak. He clearly isn’t finished, but from everything rolling off of him it is very evident that he has no idea what to say next. “Why is this so difficult for you? Will cocks his head to the side, curiosity blossoming in his chest. “I’ve heard you apologize to Jack alone more times than I can count.”

The words cause Hannibal to turn back, looking at Will fully. “This is the first time in recent memory that I have felt the need to apologize for my actions.”

It really should unsettle Will, particularly because Hannibal has just admitted that he holds no remorse for the fact that he forcibly and permanently transformed Will into some sort of animal hybrid against his will. Instead, it melts the anger away, leaving only a sort of tired resignation in its wake. “What’s the basket?” he asks, steering away from that conversation for the moment. “You clearly came here with a plan in mind, so what is it?”

“Ah.” Hannibal looks down to the box, then back up at Will. “I thought you may enjoy a dinner outside, in the forest.”

Will blinks, once, twice, and then bursts into laughter. “I probably would if it wasn’t below freezing outside, Hannibal.”

Hannibal ducks his head, almost sheepishly. “I will admit that I was so focused on what you may enjoy that I did not take practicalities into consideration.”

The laughter dies down, and Will finds himself smiling. “Part of the roof is flat,” he suggests. “With enough blankets we could probably make it work.” Hannibal nods, and they make their way outside.

Huddled together in a cocoon of blankets, they eat the hot food first, before the air can steal its warmth away. “I don’t even understand why you said it,” Will says absently, licking the crumbs off his fingers. “Last night, at dinner. We- Hannibal, we broke the news to the  _ widow. _ How could you possibly think that reasoning could be correct?”

Hannibal is silent for what feels like an eternity. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet. “Because when I put myself in your shoes, that was why  _ I _ was angry.”

The statement shocks Will and he pulls away, just enough to be able to look the other man in the face. The muted emotions, he had always assumed it was something Hannibal had done intentionally for whatever reason, but was it possible he simply did not feel them the same way most did? “Hannibal, do you lack the ability to empathize entirely?”

A slight turn of the head, and Hannibal’s eyes meet Will’s. “Would that frighten you? If I could not feel or relate to others?” Will says nothing, doesn’t allow the deflection, just continues to stare until Hannibal sighs and finally answers the question. “Not entirely,” he admits. Will feels like he’s holding his breath waiting for Hannibal to elaborate. “It is… difficult for me, entirely impossible for strangers. Even that what I can feel is easily ignored.”

Will cocks his head now, not nervous, only curious, always curious. “Then why apologize?”

Hannibal looks unsure again, like he’s not entirely aware of the answer to that question either. “Many things I considered to be true about myself do not seem to apply when it comes to you, I have found.”

“Hmm.” Will turns back to where he had been before, leaning into Hannibal’s side. “I’m glad you’re not a serial killer, I guess. You’d probably be good at that.” He feels Hannibal smiling into his hair. “How well do you know the stars?”

They stay out on the roof until the cold becomes unbearable, Will naming all the stars in the sky, Hannibal curled around his back.

Will hated being right.

He was in an alleyway, alone but for Hannibal standing beside him, looking down at a body. It was a woman, the body forced down onto her hands and knees, mouth cut wide open poised above a pile of garbage. Round pieces of trash were attached along her sides, along with a ragged tail on her lower back and wide, teardrop-shaped ears. Once he feels Hannibal’s hand on his shoulder, Will closes his eyes. 

_ This is what suits you, you’re so aggressive, like a man, everything about you is like a man, you act like a woman never should, you sleep with women instead of men, so you deserve an animal that doesn’t know its place either. Pathetic, you’re rejecting nature itself, you think this changes you, you’re just a mockery of the way things are, just because you can pretend you’re different doesn’t make it true- _

Will opens his eyes with a gasp. “I couldn’t hear her,” he shivers, “not at all. I couldn’t hear anything over the killer.”

Hannibal calls back, out to the mouth of the alley, and soon they are joined by the usual team. “Hyena,” Will says simply. “I know nothing about the victim other than what the killer thought of her.”

“Well?” Jack prompts. 

The breath Will sucks in in sharp. “She- she wasn’t particularly feminine, which the killer took as an almost personal offense. Likely queer, the killer seemed to think she was a lesbian, but we know we can’t trust his conclusions. He… turned her into a hyena because they are famously matriarchal, a masculine animal dominated by the female members of the pack.”

“That’s not completely true,” Price points out, an unfamiliar frown on his face. “Their social structure is way more complicated than that. Why not pick a more obviously female-empowering animal, like a praying mantis or something?”

Will looks down, to the dark-skinned woman crouching dead on the stones of the alley. “Hyenas live primarily in Africa.” The words feel like acid on his tongue.

There is a sharp spike of disgust from everyone, especially prominent from Jack. “We need an ID,” he barks. “I’m sure that she wanted a transformation herself, and we need to find out where she was planning on getting it from.” Hannibal and Will split away to follow Jack, try to find out who the victim is, while the other three remained to gather the techs and process the scene.

Will doesn’t sleep that night, staying in his office and staring down at the profile they had uncovered for the victim. Shandra Davidson, 32, born in Nevada and moved to Maryland for college. Worked in a bar five miles away, well liked by her coworkers and the clientele. Assertive and confident. Bisexual, with a clear preference for women. She had wanted to be a Siamese cat.

He leaves Quantico as infrequently as possible, going home to feed the dogs and sleep and then returning in the morning. Typically someone will come and drag him away from the building, sometimes Beverly, often Hannibal, even before they were dating. This time, however, Beverly seems as agitated as he is, and he hasn’t heard from Hannibal in almost an entire day. He doesn’t have time to be worried about it, he keeps thinking of the killer, how his overwhelmingly powerful emotions drown out everything else to the point of being useless, how he has absolutely nothing to go on to try and find the man, how he’s basically fucking worthless-

A shrill ringing startles him out of his thoughts and he looks down to see that it is coming from his phone. Hannibal’s name flashes across the screen. “Hello?” he answers, unable to summon the energy for anything else.

“Will, I am sorry for not contacting you earlier. There was a fire at one of my estates and I will need to travel out of the country for several days to handle the situation.”

Both the shock of the statement and his own exhaustion stop Will from focusing on the fact that Hannibal said both ‘ _ one _ of my estates’ and ‘out of the country’. “What? Was anyone-”

“No one was hurt, thankfully. A housekeeper was inside but on the opposite end of the building and was able to escape in time.”

Will lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he had been holding. “That’s- good, I guess, that’s good. How badly was the building damaged?”

“I am unaware of the specifics at this time, unfortunately. It will likely take me no less than three days to get everything sorted out.”

“I’ll let Jack know. Let me know how it goes, alright?”

“Of course, Will. Goodbye for now.”

“Bye, Hannibal.”

Jack is somewhat irritated when he hears the news, though he realizes that this is out of everybody’s hands. He waves Will away once he is done speaking, frowning down at the messy pile of papers on his desk.

Since he cannot see the killer, Will throws himself into finding and protecting potential victims. He starts with a pool of people in the general area who have publicly stated that they are looking into transformation spells, shaving off anybody who either did not have an animal in mind or had something that even the most hardcore traditionalist would agree was suitable. It left him with a staggering number of people, and he began moving through them methodically and noting how likely they were to be targeted. He wanted to get them protection. Even Jack agreed but the higher ups had shut it down, citing the possibility of widespread panic. Will wishes he couldn't see their reasoning.

In between this, to force himself to take breaks, Will continues replying to his letters. Most simply get a reply and move on but there are a handful he has written to multiple times, generally children, but there are some exceptions. It helps to pull him away from the case and the fact that Hannibal keeps extending his stay in Italy as complications arise.

Six days into his absence, Will wonders if he’s becoming codependent. He can never truly get there because he will always be able to break it off for the sake of the other person involved, no matter how much it may hurt him. He can always learn, if not to heal, than to live with the pain. Still, it doesn’t mean he can’t get pretty fucking close. It’s these thoughts that drive him into action on the seventh day, propelling him to a familiar bar, one he has visited many times over the past week with Jack and the rest of the team. 

“Agent Graham,” the bartender greets him. “Do you have more questions?”

“I’m not here for work,” Will answers, heart thudding painfully when he sees the friendly bartender deflate at his words. Everyone here was desperate for closure. The fact that he could not provide it was eating away at Will. “What kind of whiskey do you have?”

He sits at the bar, all the way at the end, hunching over his drink and trying to make himself as small as possible. Will is a solitary drinker, preferring to get wasted in the comfort of his own home, but sometimes he likes to go out and feel how the emotions around him get duller and duller as the drink takes hold. This is the first time he’s gone since his transformation and he is irritated to find that while his magic may dull, his enhanced senses remain as sharp as ever and he can hear every single word the two douchebags at the table across the room are saying.

They’re talking about him, which is not surprising. Nothing he hasn’t heard before, what a freak, do you think he’s got a sandpaper tongue, barbed dick, etc. They start drifting into his relationship with Hannibal, and that’s when he stops drinking and starts listening.

_ “Hey, you saw that talk show, right? Isn’t he getting down and dirty with that rich prick, shit, what’s his name-” _

_ “Doctor Lecter, I think? I hear he’s a bit of a freak himself, collecting all this weird shit. Guess he took that to its logical conclusion.” They laugh. _

_ “Dude, can you imagine what they get up to in the bedroom? That must be some of the freakiest sex in the world.” _

_ “Will you shut the hell up about them fucking? It skeeves me out, man. Why are you so focused on his dick? You wanna see it that badly?” _

_ “Hell no,” and more laughter. “I don’t wanna see that shit. It’s like- it’s fascinating, like how people watch car crashes. Can’t look away.” _

_ “Try harder.” _

_ “Okay, wait, one more. When he’s sucking the old dude off, what do you think happens first- he licks all the skin off with his fucked up tongue or he accidentally bites down and punctures it with his fangs?” _

_ “Shut up, man!” More laughter. “Ugh, I’m getting chills just thinking about it. Find something else to talk about.” _

_ “Oh, actually, did you hear about what happened to that bartender that worked here? The one you kept trying to get with.” _

Will finds himself tensing. He really doesn’t give a shit what they say about him, but if they’re about to start talking about the victim then based on their conversation thus far he might want to leave before it gets to him. “How much?” he asks once he catches the bartender’s attention.

_ “She never gave me the time of day. Stuck up bitch.” _

_ “I keep telling you, you were barking up the wrong tree. She ain’t into dick. Well, she ain’t into anything now.”  _

The bartender waves a hand like he’s not going to charge Will anything. Will shoots him a stern look and he grudgingly totals up a receipt with a total that is suspiciously low.

_ “And I keep telling you, just gotta give em one good fucking and they’ll realize what they’ve been missing out on.” _

_ “Whatever, man. She got ganked in an alley. Murdered.” _

_ “It’s such a shame. What a waste of good pussy.” They laugh uproariously. _

Will fumbles through his wallet, pulling out enough to cover the bill three times over. His hands are trembling as he tries to tamp down the rage that’s rapidly expanding inside of him.

_ “Hey, look, kitty’s getting angry over there. Think he heard us?” _

_ “I sure hope so. Look at his tail go, christ that’s funny.” _

“Yes,” Will spits out, turning towards the men. “Yes, I can hear you.”

“You got a problem, man?” one of them crows. 

“Watch out!” the other one laughs. “He’s gonna scratch you or something.”

“I wonder if he slaps harder than Shandra?”

“Naw, man, she was way manlier than him. I don’t know why you were interested in that chick.”

“Look, okay, women like that are pretty aggressive, it’s rough but the sex is usually amazing.”

Will glances back and makes eye contact with the bartender, who looks incredibly uncomfortable. Everyone in the bar is staring at them. “Call the cops,” he tells him, “and I’m sorry for this.”

“This isn’t your fault,” the bartender assures him hurriedly.

“No,” Will counters, balling his hand into a fist. “That’s not what I meant.” The man’s eyes widen and he reaches for the phone at the same time Will walks over to stand before the table where the rowdy men are sitting.

“Yeah, call the cops, they’ll take care of it all for you-”

He doesn’t have a chance to finish his taunt before Will pulls back and punches the man square across the face.

Chaos erupts. Most of the patrons scatter to try and put as much distance between them and the fight as possible, though a few move towards it to attempt to break it up. “Man, what the  _ fuck! _ ” the second man cries, lashing out and catching Will across the chin. His lip pulls across one of his fangs, cutting it open and sending blood trickling down his face. Will growls and punches again, this time hitting the other man. He is outnumbered but these men have obviously never been in an actual fight in their lives. All of their strikes are clumsy and easily avoidable, an occasional lucky hit getting him in the face, but for the most part it’s incredibly one sided. For every time he’s struck he gives two back and quickly overwhelms the men. He hears shouting, people trying to pull him away, hears one of the men groaning in pain, adjusts his stance, starts to swing for the temple-

_ Will. Stop this. _

It’s Hannibal’s voice, loud and clear, and Will listens. He drops his hands, allows himself to be separated, eyes tracking around the bar and seeing no sign of the other man. He crumples, all the fight sucked out of him at once.

When the police arrive, he goes with them willingly, though he notices the other two men offer some semblance of resistance. His injuries are deemed minor and he gets his own special solo drunk tank for the night, far away from the one the men he fought are left in. He does not sleep.

It’s Beverly that picks him up in the morning. “You’re lucky as shit that no one is pressing charges,” she sighs.

“You don’t seem mad about this,” Will observes. His head is killing him.

“Jack is angry enough for the rest of us. Come on, let’s go get you yelled at before Hannibal arrives this afternoon.”

Will pauses. “Hannibal’s coming back?”

“Yeah, and when he called me because he couldn’t reach you I had to tell him it’s because you were in fucking jail. Don’t make me do that again.”

Will droops. “Sorry,” he says quietly. “How did he… what did he say? When you told him.” They get in Beverly’s car, and she hands him a to-go cup of coffee. It’s warm, and goes a long way towards making him feel human again.

At that, she shoots him a sly grin. “I told him you started a bar fight and his words were, and I quote, ‘Perhaps he should be more careful next time.’ Make of that what you will.”

“I can’t tell if he’s telling me not to start fights or just to do them where no one else can see them,” Will mutters. “Probably both.”

“Probably both,” Beverly agrees, and takes him to his execution.

Jack manages to yell at Will for over an hour, which may be a new record, though he can sense Purnell hovering outside and thinks it may be partially for show.

The next body is gruesome.

It’s a woman, face down, arms and legs cut off after the middle joint. The removed portions are stitched together and to her lower back, forming a long tail behind her. A blue scarf rolls out of her mouth, like a long tongue. “I don’t want to,” Will whispers. “It won’t help.” Hannibal says nothing, simply puts his hand on Will’s shoulder and waits until the man closes and opens his eyes.

_ You think what you have to say is so special, you think your tongue is the best thing about you but everything you say is stupid garbage, you’re too fucking stupid to realize it, a lower life-form, nothing better than a reptile, short and fat like you are- _

He’s trembling when the rest of the team returns. They probably think it’s simply stress. He knows Hannibal can tell that it’s anger.

“Magdelena Herrera,” Jack offers. “28.”

“Let me guess,” he grinds out from between clenched teeth. “Politically active. Liberal.”

Beverly nods. “Women’s rights, mostly. Had quite the online presence, did a lot of activism. Pissed a lot of people off.”

“Easy to ID,” Brian adds, stepping towards the body as he readies his camera. “Do you think the killer is aiming for people who are more well known now?”

Will shakes his head. “No, it’s a coincidence. Maybe he couldn’t- couldn’t fight the urge and had to pick an easy target.”

“Three bodies in less than a month,” Jack interjects. “This has to be stopped. Is there really nothing you can see, Will?”

“I’ve already told you I can’t,” Will snaps. “This guy’s smart, aside from the narcissism. He’s- he’s tarnishing their legacies, ensuring they will be remembered how he saw them. He’ll be charming and easy to get along with.”

“That’s not a narrow enough profile,” Jack growls.

“Well too fucking bad because it’s all I’ve got!”

Silence rings through the area after Will had shouted the words. Brain, Jimmy and Beverly are all very interested in the body, and while Hannibal remains at Will’s side, his hand on his shoulder tightens in warning. Jack takes in a deep breath and lets it out before speaking. “Will, take some time off to calm down. If I see you back at Quantico before Monday I’m just going to kick you right back out.”

Will blinks, taken aback. His ears spring back forward from where they had been flat against his skull. “Jack, are you  _ suspending me? _ ”

“Take some time off,” Jack repeats, voice tight. “Get out of here before I make it official.”

Will swallows down the hiss he can feel building before spinning and walking away from the scene, slamming the door of his car shut with more force than strictly necessary. He takes off his glasses and puts his head in his hands.

The passenger door opens and he hears someone slide into the seat beside him before closing the door softly. He knows it’s Hannibal, can tell from his scent alone. “What do you want,” Will grumbles.

“I would think that much would be obvious.”

“Don’t they need you to help out with the case?”

“They will wait.”

“You should go, at least one of us can help-”

“ _ Will. _ ”

The hands are pulled gently away from his face and he soon has no choice but to face Hannibal. “What, Hannibal.” He’s tired, so tired of it all. “What is it.”

“Why are you reacting so strongly, Will?” At Will’s look, Hannibal hastily amends his question. “You have worked many cases that are, at a minimum, as bad as this one. Why is this one affecting you?”

“Because I can’t fucking  _ do anything,  _ Hannibal.” It comes out harsh, almost immediately deflating afterwards. “I’m- my magic is useless with this killer.” He had corrected what he was about to say, but Hannibal frowns like he caught it regardless.

“You are far from useless, Will. It is not only your magic that earned you a spot on Jack’s team.”

Will makes a noise like he doesn’t believe it. “Go help them, Hannibal.”

Hannibal, reluctantly, leaves.

The next day Will wakes up late with a hangover. He eats what probably counts as lunch, pulls together his fishing gear, manages to shove his tail down the waders and then goes to the recently thawed river out behind his house, dogs trailing behind him. He leaves his phone behind.

He likes fishing because he can twist it to be whatever he needs it to be. Sometimes he focuses so intensely on the process, the way the line bobs along the water, the flashes of silver as the fish dart by, the careful process of reeling them in, until he isn’t capable of thinking of anything else. Other times, like now, he can do the actions he knows so well automatically, letting his mind race and pick apart the things he finds himself stuck on.

Three bodies, with more certain to come. No connection between the three victims. All close associates of the first two had been cleared, none of them fitting the loose profile anyways. He was sure this would apply to the third victim as well, just as sure as he was that she was in the market for a transformation spell. The animal could be anything, really, but it sure as hell wasn’t going to be a blue-tongued skink. As little as he knew about the killer, he knew for certain that he was horrifically wrong. It was why he killed them, after all; because he thought he was the only one who could see the truth about them. In reality, what he was seeing was something much closer to a mirror.

He’s been out here for a while, can tell from the cold beginning to seep through the waders and the way the sunset bathes the landscape in a golden glow. That was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? He knows himself so well, knows his job so well, that the natural extension of that assuredness is that he knows  _ others _ that well too. He hasn’t been wrong so far, so why would that change? People lie to themselves all the time, without even realizing it. They tell themselves they’re happy, tell themselves everything is okay, tell themselves that they’re worth more than they are because the alternative is too hard to look at. It’s so, so painfully obvious what people are like. I don’t understand why people can say it’s hard to tell what someone is thinking when it’s plainly written across their faces. People are all the same. Easily predictable, fitting into neat little boxes. Anyone that is trying to break out of them is nothing more than confused. Anyone that confused simply needs to be-

A sharp and sudden pain in his hand rips Will out of his thoughts with a gasping inhale. He blinks, the light of sunset fading away as he realizes it is something else entirely. The world around him is pitch black, his fishing rod is gone, the dogs are gone save for Winston, by his side and barking, a bite mark in his hand.

He can’t tell if he’s shivering so violently because of the cold or the reality of what just happened hitting him. “The-” he tries to speak, but his voice is raspy and as useless as his mind. Winston is leaning heavily onto him, trying valiantly to get him to move out of the river. Finally he does so, with unsteady steps. Winston darts away, barking and hopping around. All he can do is follow and hope.

When he reaches his home he almost cries with relief to find the front door open and his dogs all safely inside, curled up in beds by the fire. He didn’t leave the door open. He didn’t start a fire. Winston continues to nudge him inside and he makes it into the living room before he collapses onto the floor, teeth chattering, hands shaking. There is a blanket, just out of reach, and Winston drags it towards him so he can wrap it around himself. His mind is utterly blank.

He hears the crunching of wheels on gravel, a door slamming, rapid footsteps and a familiar scent. When Hannibal speaks, his voice is low, soothing, calm. “Will. What happened, Will?”

Will cannot speak, just turns his head slightly to better hear Hannibal. The other man drops down beside him and reaches out a hand out, making a soft noise of displeasure when he touches freezing skin. He stands, leaves and returns with more blankets, wraps them around Will until his face is barely visible between the coverings. Returns again with a warm mug filled with tea. Sits beside him until Will slowly regains the feeling in his limbs and his frozen thoughts finally begin to move once more. “I don’t know,” he whispers. “I don’t know what happened.” The beverage warms him from the inside.

“How long were you in the river?”

“That depends. What time is it?”

“Close to midnight.” Will must make a distressed noise at that, because Hannibal scoots closer and puts an arm around his shoulders.

“At least eight hours,” he manages to gasp. “I don’t- I’ve never-”

“Never what, Will?”

“I used. I used my powers, without even meaning to.”

Hannibal tenses beside him. “On what?”

The words, when they emerge, are barely audible. “On the killer.”

Now, Hannibal stills entirely. “Will, you-”

“I can’t, that’s not something I can  _ do. _ ” The empty mug is plucked from his hand and he pulls the blankets tighter around himself. “That’s not how my powers work, I have to be able to  _ see _ what I’m looking into, I can’t do it on nothing. It’s not possible.” He laughs, bitter. “Evidently, I was wrong about that.”

“It may be possible that your physical sight simply acts as a focus.”

“That’s not-” Will frowns. No matter how he thinks about it, what obviously happened seems impossible. “Magic can’t be so… directionless. I can’t look inside the killer because I don’t even know who he is.”

“When you profile, you create a version of the person inside your head. Perhaps you used your powers not on the real killer, but the shadow of him you carry with you.”

“It sounds crazy,” Will admits, “but I can’t think of anything. I just- I can’t think of much, at the moment. I’m sorry.”

“Why one earth would you need to apologize, Will?”

“For ruining your- wait. How did you know to come?”

Hannibal sighs. “I had grown worried when you did not respond to any calls or texts for the entire day, particularly since they were simply ringing out. You will shut off your phone if you do not wish to be contacted. When I arrived… the state of your house and yard was evidence enough that something was wrong.”

Will almost laughs. “I don’t know how the dogs got back here, either. I think Winston did it, somehow.”

“Hmm.” Hannibal looks over to the dog in question, laying by the fire and watching them silently. “You are certainly correct, in that he is more than he seems.”

“If you tell Jack, he’ll pull me off the case.”

“Would you want that?”

“No. I need- I want to catch him.”

“Then I will not,” is all Hannibal says, like it’s really that simple.

With the cold finally seeping away, Will sees that his trembling has not subsided. He means to ask Hannibal to stay the night, too worried to stay alone, but what comes out instead, broken and weak, is “Don’t leave me. Please.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Hannibal smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to Will’s forehead.

For the second time, Will wakes up sprawled on top of Hannibal.

The man’s shirt has come undone again, a clear indicator that Will is probably doing it in his sleep, but thankfully this time he doesn’t wake with his fingers tangled into Hannibal’s chest hair or his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Unfortunately, what he does wake up to is his own face nuzzled into the same space, a happy purr emerging from his throat.

_ Marginally less embarrassing,  _ Will thinks to himself, pushing himself off of the body beneath him with a stretch and a yawn. When he glances down at what he thought was a sleeping man he sees burgundy eyes open and watching him.  _ Only slightly less, _ Will corrects with a wince.

“Good morning,” Hannibal tells him, voice rough with sleep. “How are you feeling?”

“I, uh.” Will gives himself a second for his brain to move past the position he woke in and onto the events of last night. “Morning. All my limbs still work, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It is a good start. Would you like breakfast?”

At that, Will smiles. “Always.”

While Hannibal putters around in the kitchen, Will sits at the table with a collection of letters. “You do not work today, correct?”

“No,” Will frowns. “Can’t come back ‘til Monday, or another body drops and Jack decides he wants my help after all. Whichever’s first.”

“Then we both have the day free. I was thinking we could visit the conservatory, if you are amenable. Perhaps get lunch as well.”

The frown inverts as he thinks of Hannibal, surrounded by flowers. “I’d like that,” Will answers softly. “I can get the neighbors to check in on the dogs for me.”

“It is a date,” Hannibal says, voice light. He turns, apparently at a break in his cooking, and takes in all the papers on the table. “More letters?”

“I don’t get new ones that often anymore, at least other than from academics,” Will confirms. “Still some people I keep writing too, though.”

Hannibal glances at the stove, calculating how long he can leave it unattended, before sitting at the table next to Will. “Tell me.”

Will raises an eyebrow, but stops his pen. “This one,” he picks up a letter on pink floral stationary, “is a young girl with cat allergies. Loves cats but could never have one, supposedly. They actually- I helped them look into hypoallergenic breeds and they got once recently. She sends me pictures.” He holds the photograph out to Hannibal, who cannot entirely control the way his eyebrow twitches in distaste at the hairless, wrinkled thing. “Hey, come on,” Will laughs. “It’s cute! They named her Flower.”

“This one?” Hannibal points to another letter, eager to change the subject away from the hairless cat, possibly before Will asks him what he would do if he shaved his magnificent tail.

“That one actually  _ is  _ an academic, ironically. Biologist who works with big cats. She’s done a lot of work with snow leopards- answers any questions I might have about them. She-” He pauses. “She’s local. Works with the Maryland Zoo a lot.”

“She could let you see them,” Hannibal finishes, giving voice to the words that had been stuck in Will’s throat.

Slowly, he nods. He's been avoiding the zoo since his transformation, not that he had been a frequent visitor beforehand. Initially it was just to avoid the media circus, but more recently, it simply… felt strange. Like seeing his reflection in a pond distorted by ripples. “I’m… thinking about it. They may outright attack me.”

“Would they be letting you inside the enclosure at all?” Amusingly, Hannibal looks faintly alarmed.

Will laughs. “Not right off the bat. Likely not ever. But it’s… a possibility. Depends on how they see me.”

“Hmm.” Hannibal’s finger lands on another letter. “And this?”

Will goes through the rest until Hannibal has to return to the food he is cooking. “Who are you replying to now?” he asks, stirring the pot on the stove.

“A man who lives with his parents. They’re his caretakers. He… thinks I’m some kind of superhero, actually.”

“Are you not?” Hannibal teases. He drops some eggs into a second pot of boiling water while he continues to let the first one simmer. “I seem to remember you climbing the side of a building to catch a criminal.”

“Hannibal, there are people who can shoot fire from their fingertips. As far as magic goes, enhanced senses is pretty low on the coolness scale.”

“I would argue that your powers, both inherent and… gained, are only one of many factors that allow you to perform your duties for the FBI.” The eggs are spooned out of the water and on top of bowls filled with a pale orange, aromatic stew-like substance. He brings the bowls to the table, waiting until Will has cleared the space before setting the food down. “Curried potatoes with poached eggs.”

“Okay, regardless.” Will takes a moment to begin eating. “Shit, this is good. Anyways. I’m not a superhero.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable? To be idolized.”

Will grimaces. “Incredibly. It’s not a feeling I’m used to experiencing.”

They eat, and talk about banal things, until Hannibal cocks his head and puts his silverware down. “What more is bothering you?”

“Huh?” Will glances up, startled. Sometimes he forgets that Hannibal can read people almost as well as he can, an impressive feat for someone with no magical abilities aiding them. “Oh, uh… the man. His parents are considering getting him a transformation potion, for his birthday. They’ve been asking for suggestions of how to go about getting it.”

“You want to pay for it.”

Will sighs. “I’m… considering it. I can’t decide if I’m crossing about a hundred different boundaries by suggesting it.”

“Why not meet with them in person? If you are able to get a clearer view of who they are then you may find your decision made quite easily.”

“Also considering it,” Will huffs. “Either way, it definitely won’t be happening until this case is over and done with.”

“After the case,” Hannibal agrees. They both return to their food, and plan for the day ahead of them.

The fourth body waits for Tuesday, when Will has been back for only a day. It’s a woman, young and beautiful in the photos they find of her later. Will meets her as a skinless corpse, the crudely flayed skin wrapped around her neck like a bloody boa. He closes his eyes and sees  _ weak  _ and  _ fussy _ and  _ shut up and look pretty since you’re good for nothing else.  _ She wanted a komodo dragon, a strong animal that weaponizes bacteria, the opposite to her severe allergies she had to constantly manage. Far from the difficult to take care of chinchilla the killer had decided was correct. Will is snappy and on edge, hissing at multiple people and rarely seen with his ears anywhere but flat against his skull, tail in constant motion.

The fifth body is found on Friday, and Will has no idea where they are going. Hannibal had been notified instead and was currently driving them to their destination. They are driving through a manicured suburb, all pale colored houses and perfect green lawns. He turns onto a street and when Will catches the street sign his blood turns to ice. “Hannibal,” he says slowly, seeing the mess of cop cars pulled onto the ruined lawn of a pretty blue home. “What’s the address?”

He doesn’t wait for the answer as Hannibal pulls over, just jumps out of the car as soon as it is safe to do so and sprints inside the house. Jack is speaking to him but everything has faded into a high-pitched buzzing. The body is in front of him. He cannot even blink.

A man, limbs bound against his sides. The skin around his face is peeled back in triangles, like the teeth of a lamprey.

“...ill,” he hears. “Will!” A broad hand clamps down on his shoulder, jerking him back to reality. He turns to find Hannibal, with Jack and the rest hovering nearby. 

“Kevin Davids, 35,” Will says numbly. It feels almost as if he is watching someone else speak, through a shimmering waterfall. “Developmentally disabled, lives with his parents. Wanted to be-” his voice breaks here, only just. “Wanted to be a snow leopard.”

“How do you know that, Will?” Jack asks, brow furrowed.

“Because he told me,” Will growls, teeth bared. “In the letters he sent me. He wanted to be-”  _ ‘cool’ like me, _ he cannot add. His chest hurts, like a part of it has been crushed beyond recognition. “I can’t do this, Jack. Not this one.”

“Will, I need you to at least try, you could find something-”

“You don’t  _ want _ me to find  _ anything _ ,” Will hisses. “You better fucking  _ pray _ you find this guy before I do, because if I get to him first there won’t be anything left to put on trial.”

This time, when he leaves it’s of his own volition, and Hannibal is not stopped when he follows. He can hear the anguished wails of the parents as he goes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The case is wrapped up this chapter, and then... well, I'm sure you've noticed a lot of new tags.
> 
> A general note- starting this chapter, there is stuff I won't be tagging due to spoilers. If anyone wants specific things tagged I can add them in the ending notes!

Hannibal won’t spend more than a few minutes away from Will, and he honestly cannot guess if it’s because of Jack asking him to keep an eye on him or his own concern. “You’re hovering,” Will growls, bristling. Any other time he would not have minded, perhaps even encouraged the closeness, but now he was all sharp angles and raw nerves. “Give me some space.”

“I think not,” comes the infuriating response. “I have seen firsthand how strongly this case has affected you, and you did just threaten to kill somebody.”

“Then you can at least make yourself useful.” They’re at Quantico, Will’s office, staring at a wall covered in victim profiles and various related pieces of information. “Why is this one different?” He points to the first victim.

Hannibal is silent for several moments before responding. “Based on this information, I do not believe it is.”

“But it  _ is, _ ” Will insists. “Something about it is different and I can’t tell what. If I figure it out, it could be the key to finding the killer.”

“Why have you only noticed now?”

“I’m… calmer, in a way. All the excess emotions have fled. It’s easier to think clearly and see what I’ve been missing this entire time.”

“Will, that does not sound like-”

“My powers,” Will says suddenly. “How I used them in the river. I’m going to try it again.”

Hannibal actually grimaces, displeasure radiating off of him. “While I cannot condone this, I know that nothing I can say will stop you.”

“It might not even work,” Will smiles, sad and empty. “But I have to try.” He waits for the hand on his shoulder and then he closes his eyes, this time leaving them shut.

He thinks of the killer, tries to pull his thoughts about the man together into one place. Nothing is happening. It may be too abstract- he slowly begins to build the image of the man together, leaving features blank like a mannequin until he has constructed the body of a person. Then, and only then, he sees the faintness of a golden glow, and this time when he smiles it’s genuine. He looks.

Like this, he has more control, safe inside his own mind. Instead of being overwhelmed by a rush of emotions he can choose what he looks at, what he runs through the man to see how he reacts. He starts from the most recent victim and works backwards. Kevin- disgust. Sasha, the fourth body- pity and condescension. Magdalena- outrage. Shandra- impatience. Travis- resignation, I wish it hadn’t come to this, why didn’t you just  _ listen- _

“He knew the first victim,” Will gasps, opening his eyes. “The others were strangers, but he knew the first victim, well enough to regret what he thinks he was forced to do. All of his friends and coworkers had alibis, right?”

“They did,” Hannibal confirms.

“It’s a ranch. They probably got plenty of deliveries. If we get a list of the vendors we can get a shortlist of the suspects. Let’s go, Hannibal.”

Hannibal offers to drive them both, and does not make any moves to stop Will or ask him to wait for Jack. Strange, but welcome. He can barely keep pace with Will once the car is parked and he is strolling up to the ranch owner’s house.

“Agent Graham,” the man greets, a touch surprised. “Is there anything I can do for you today?”

“I need to know all the companies you take deliveries from,” he rushes out. “Particularly the ones Hillsworth would have dealt with personally.”

The owner’s eyes widen further, but he soon has the paperwork put together for them. Hannibal is driving them back to Quantico as Will leaves careless marks on the paper. “Wait, stop. Go here instead.” He rattles off an address. “They deliver hay and other types of feed for the livestock, would have been a couple times a week. Travis dealt with them directly.”

Hannibal nods, and turns around at the next light.

Luckily, the owner of the feed business is more than happy to help them. Travis was well-liked even beyond his place of employment, it seems. “Yeah, that’d be Richard Thorne,” the woman tells them. “A bit standoffish, but very good at his job.”

“Is he working today?”

She shakes her head. “Day off. Sorry about that.”

“Thank you for your time.” They depart, Will barely in the car before he’s calling back to Quantico to have somebody search through their systems. He brightens considerably before hanging up the phone.

“He’s in the system from an assault charge some years ago. I got an address.”

“Do we have enough to arrest him, Will?”

“Enough to bring him in for questioning, which is all we need. Come on, let’s go pick him up.”

“Will you be able to control yourself?”

Will doesn’t answer, simply looks outside of the window at the scenery flashing by as they speed towards the killer.

The man answers his door quickly. He is composed, but the slight scowl he flashes when his eyes land on Will is all the confirmation he needs. “Mr Thorne?” he asks, for propriety’s sake.

“Who’s asking?” 

Will pulls out his badge and shows it off. “My name is Agent Graham, and this is Doctor Lecter, a special investigator. We’re going to need you to come with us so we can ask you some questions.”

“You can ask them right here. I know my rights.”

“I can arrest you instead, if you’d prefer.” It’s a gamble- they’ve convicted on nothing more than Will’s magic before, but it’s extraordinarily difficult. If they arrest him now and he refuses to confess, there was a real chance of him walking free.

The man sneers at them. “You fucking cops, you all think you’re above the law. If you take me in I’m suing your asses so fast you won’t be able to walk for a week.” The brash attitude, the overwhelming narcissism, it all fits perfectly. There’s no way the man standing before them is anything other than the killer they’ve all been looking for. He’s right here, within reach, and Will feels himself balling his hands into fists. “Oh, are you gonna hit me now? That’d land you in jail, but it doesn’t matter because you won’t do shit anyways. You have to uphold the law, enact your justice, you’re all just to scared to take things into your own hands-”

Will puts his hands on the man’s shoulders and pushes him back inside of the house, following close behind. “Is that really what you think?” he hisses, sweeping a leg out to topple the man and send him crashing to the ground. He makes a cry of both pain and surprise when he connects. “That I’m too  _ scared. _ Of  _ you. _ ” Will puts a foot on between the man’s shoulder blades and presses down, flattening him to the floor.

“H-Help-” the man squeaks, reaching out towards Hannibal, who watches impassively from the door.

“No one’s going to help you,” Will murmurs. He drops to the ground, straddling the man struggling beneath him. “Not that you’d deserve it. No one is going to be sad to hear you’ve died.” His hands grip the man’s head harshly, pulling it up before dashing it against the wooden floor. Once, twice, until he hears a crack and a rush of blood flows from the other man’s nose. He keeps going, until the cries turn into weak gurgles and the man’s head is one large bloody mess. Only then does Will lean down, put his lips beside the man’s ear, and whisper. “You will die forgotten.” He pulls back, until he is over the man’s neck, opens his mouth wide-

Will feels a hand on his shoulder, blinks, finds himself standing on the man’s doorstep with the suspect ranting and raving in the doorway. Hannibal is regarding him with something unreadable and intense, almost like he had been watching the entire fantasy as well. “He has threatened you multiple times,” Hannibal whispers to him, voice ragged. “I would suggest we move things along.”

A deep breath, in and out, and then Will is arresting the man, hauling him into the back of Hannibal’s Bentley, taking him back to Quantico and calling Jack to let him know they’re on their way. He gets yelled at when he arrives, for acting on his own, for putting a suspect in a  _ consultant’s personal car, _ even a little bit for his behavior at the previous crime scene.

But Will gets a full confession out of the man in less than thirty minutes, and Jack stops yelling.

“He was just looking for an excuse to brag,” he tells Jack, rubbing a hand across his forehead.

“You went from having no clue to arresting the killer in less than twenty-four hours. What happened, Will?”

“It clicked,” Will answers, not a lie but not quite the truth. “The first kill was different, felt more personal. It was easy to find him from there.”

Jack seems a bit suspicious but, as always, he puts it aside. “Go home once you’re written up your report. We can tie everything up tomorrow.”

While Will is writing everything up, Hannibal slips away and takes care of his dogs for the night. When he leaves, it’s not to go to his home, but to Hannibal’s.

They end up, as always, in the study, by the fire. This time, it’s less intimate and closer to tense. Hannibal sits on the plush couch, alone, as Will stands and stares into the fire, hand clenched around a glass he has long since emptied. “Are you not happy?” Hannibal asks him. “The killer has been caught.”

“I should have seen it sooner,” Will murmurs. “The possibility was there from the very first victim. Instead, four more people died.”

“You said yourself he would not stop. Who knows how many lives you have saved by apprehending him.”

“It doesn’t- you can’t go forwards like that, Hannibal. He could have stepped outside the next day and been killed by a falling meteorite. All we can be sure of is that four people were murdered because I was too busy feeling sorry for myself and starting bar fights to figure everything out.”

“Will,” Hannibal says, sharp. “Come here.”

Will places his empty glass on the mantle before turning and padding over to Hannibal, refusing to look the other man in the eyes. Instead, he allows himself to be pulled into the waiting lap, allows himself to be curled down against his shoulder, allows the hands that slip into his hair and run across his ears. “I shouldn’t have waited.”

“You could not possibly have known or expected it, Will.”

“I want to go,” he says softly. “To Kevin’s funeral.”

“I am certain the family would be overjoyed to see you attend.”

The sound Will makes may have started as a joyless laugh, but emerges closer to something painful. He pulls back, shakes his head to dislodge the hands on it, waits for Hannibal to drop them to his sides. “I don’t want to fall asleep,” Will breathes. “I don’t know what’s waiting for me.”

Hannibal considers him for a moment, then his hands move once more. One presses down at the base of his neck, pulling the man closer to his chest, and the other slips down beneath his shirt to find the place just above where his tail connects to his body. He presses down, rubs circles into the skin, and Will sighs against his shoulder, long and pleased. It sends warmth throughout his body. Without the relaxing touches on his head, it instead resolves itself into a low-grade arousal, leaving him pliant and boneless. “S’nice,” he mumbles, body sinking into Hannibal’s. The touches brush against his tail, causing it to sway back and forth where it’s draping onto the ground, a gentle rhythm. 

Then, the hand trails lower, fingers running along the edge of Will’s pants before dipping down and gracefully undoing the clasp. Hannibal slips his hand inside, tracing a line down to the underside of the tail and stroking just below it. Will’s breath hitches. “Still tired?” Hannibal asks, a smile in his voice.

Will can’t entirely control the way his tail starts to raise away to expose the area, nor the way his hips tilt back at the touch. He’s begun purring but it feels stronger, more urgent. He manages to get out the word ‘nope’ before he turns his head into Hannibal’s neck, nuzzling. “Is this alright?” Hannibal whispers, mostly into his curls. His fingers are running along the underside of the tail as well, massaging the skin just below it and stroking upwards.

“It’s… fine,” Will insists. “Stop asking. I’ll tell you if you do anything I don’t want you to.”

Hannibal lets out a thoughtful hum. “Where had you gone?” he murmurs, the hand that had been holding Will close by the neck sliding away. “When we arrested that man. On his doorstep, you were silent for a long while.”

Against him, Will frowns. “Hannibal, why do you-” The sentence ends in a choked off gasp as Hannibal’s free hand slips into the small gap his hips pushing back has left and cups him where he’s half hard through his pants.

“Your expression,” he continues, voice low. “It was wondrous. What did you see, Will?”

“I-” Will’s mind is shuddering, making it hard to be certain of anything. It feels like a strange way to ask, borderline manipulative, but maybe Hannibal just thought it could focus and calm him enough to answer? “I was going to kill him,” he eventually sighs.

Those long fingers undo the button and zipper on the front of his pants. “Tell me how.”

“He was easy to take by surprise. I-” Another hitch in his breath as Hannibal slips his hand inside, under the pants but not his boxer-briefs. “I-I knocked him to the ground. Face down.” Hannibal is stroking him through the fabric, easily working him to full hardness, while the hand on and around his tail does not cease its ministrations. “H-His head.” It’s becoming more and more of an effort to form coherent words, with the way he’s being touched. “Hit it against the ground, over and over.”

“Did this kill him?” Hannibal’s voice is something dark, a tone Will has never heard stain the other man’s words before. He supposes, to anyone else, it could be considered something close to terrifying. Instead, he feels himself throb against Hannibal’s hand, and a sharp spike of arousal pulses through him.

Will shakes his head, the best he can in both his position and circumstances. “I was-” The fingers dance upwards, playing with the elastic of his underwear but doing nothing more. “I wanted to break his neck,” Will admits, “the same way I killed Tier.”

He almost doesn’t hear the strangled noise that slips out of Hannibal because everything is smothered by the burning touch as he finally dips his hand inside. Hannibal wastes no time, hand on the tail stopping to shove the pants and underwear partly down Will’s thighs, just enough to expose his cock and allow him access without the restrictive barrier, and then the hand is working him mercilessly. His other hand finds its way to Will’s hair, grips a handful of curls before tugging back sharply, forcing Will’s head back. Their eyes meet for a moment and while Will cannot see what he looks like, it must be something pleasing based on the way the other man’s eyes dilate and the corner of his lip twitches up, but then the hand is urging him forward and Hannibal’s lips capture his own in a bruising kiss.

The hand on his dick is just barely too dry, in a way that only adds to the sensation instead of veering into discomfort. He can tell from the sharp smell that precome has started to leak out of him, something Hannibal notices and gathers to ease the slide of his hand. It’s been so long, since he’s been touched by someone else at all, since he’s wanted  _ Hannibal _ to touch him like this, that he knows it’s going to be embarrassingly quick. He couldn’t warn Hannibal even if he wanted to, with the way the older man is kissing him, like he’s trying to make a place for himself inside of Will’s body. All the sensations are so intense and overwhelming that all Will can do is hold on. The hand in his hair pulls him backwards again, tilting his head to the side as Hannibal latches onto his neck and sucks, the hand on his dick presses down beneath the head, and Will comes.

He forces his head down against Hannibal’s shoulder, to muffle his own cries as he comes. The displeasure at this action radiates off Hannibal like heat. “Do not hide yourself,” He chides, teeth taking advantage of the ear just in front of his mouth, biting lightly. 

“Just-” Will is panting, and he pauses to collect himself and get the words out correctly. “Just give me a minute.”

“Very well,” but Hannibal doesn’t seem too pleased with the concept. 

When he finally pulls back, it’s with two fingers pressed against the mark Hannibal has left on him and a frown on his face. “Hannibal, this is-”

Hannibal tosses away the tissue he had used to clean them before looking back at Will with might actually be a sheepish expression. “I forgot myself for a moment.” He helps Will pull his underwear back up and tucks him back inside, making no moves to button up or even fix the pants.

The mark is high enough not to be covered by a collar and low enough to not be concealed with a longer beard, not that he’d entertain that option in the first place. “I’ll need to wear a scarf.”

It was apparently the wrong thing to say, based on the devilish twinkle that lights up in Hannibal’s eyes. “Then allow me to give you further reason to do so.”

“Hannibal, hold on, I can't wear a scarf indoors, everyone would know immediately-” but he is already in motion, tilting Will’s head up and away with a hand on his chin and lips and tongue on his neck. Will lets out a high noise at the touch- having the hand directly touching his facial hair is not painful, as he expected, but overwhelming. His eyes flutter closed, partly so the oversensity doesn’t threaten to smother him. The touch feels hot and almost tingles. Somehow, it affects him more strongly than the string of marks Hannibal is leaving along his neck. When the older man tightens his fingers, moves Will’s head to the other side, he lets out a strangled noise, enough to divert Hannibal’s attention, earn the light press of teeth along the hinge of his jaw. A hand drops down, a finger running along his renewed erection. “Curious,” Hannibal murmurs.

Will jerks backwards, blinking rapidly as he looks down to confirm that he is, indeed, hard again. “What…?” he whispers, shocked. 

“Not all men experience a refractory period, and some experience one so short it is almost nonexistent.”

“Yeah, and I’m not one of them.”

The fingers touching him curve inwards, stroking him once through the fabric of his underwear. “Is this unpleasant?”

A shiver runs through Will. “N-No,” he forces out.

“Perhaps this is another new component of your physiology?”

“That doesn’t-” Before Will can finish responding Hannibal has picked him up and turned them around, setting Will down on the couch and kneeling before him. The ease of his movements, a casual display of a great deal of hidden strength, drives all words out of his brain. Briefly, Will thinks Hannibal is about to perform an examination on him to see if he can find a physical explanation. He is somewhat correct though he supposes there’s nothing clinical about the way Hannibal eases Will’s pants off the rest of the way, pulls him out of his boxer-briefs yet again, pumps him a few times before leaning in and swiping his tongue across the tip like he’s sampling the taste. Physically, the touch isn’t very impactful, but the knowledge of the action itself rips an incredibly undignified sound out of Will. “Hannibal, what are-”

“I see no reason we should not take advantage,” Hannibal says with a shrug. He feels pleased, indescribably so, and Will wonders if he should be worried about how the rest of the night is going to play out. Then there are lips mouthing along his shaft, a tongue darting out to lick a stripe back up, and Will can’t bring himself to be worried about much of anything.

He remains upright on his own until he feels the seal of Hannibal’s lips as the head of his cock is engulfed, at which point he curls forward with his hands on the other man’s shoulders so they don’t end up gripping far too harshly in his hair instead. It keeps him from looking down as well, something he isn’t quite sure he could handle at the moment. It’s one thing to feel what is happening and another entirely to actually  _ see _ Hannibal between his legs, sucking down his cock like it’s the greatest thing he’s ever eaten. Because that’s how he feels, isn’t it? Based on the emotions pouring off of him, it could easily be argued that he’s enjoying this just as much as if not more than Will is. He wants to look, but he cannot, so he closes his eyes to remove the temptation entirely. This turns out to be a mistake.

While he cannot see in reality, everything is formed perfectly in his mind’s eye, from the way Hannibal’s cheeks have hollowed to the trail of spit that escapes out of his mouth. Almost automatically, he reaches back towards Hannibal in reality, causing the other man to still while he wipes his thumb along the track to clean it. He isn’t even surprised when he finds it actually exists. Hannibal makes some sort of incomprehensible noise around Will, the vibrations in his throat drawing an answering moan, soft but unmistakable, out of Will in turn. He can feel Hannibal smile, an impressive feat with a cock down your throat, and then he’s pushing forward, as far as he can go, and he grabs the hand on his face and brings it to his hair. Will’s fingers tighten on the strands, taking care to not grip too harshly.

It is not uncommon for Will’s tail to curl around him, something it tries to do now, but it finds its way blocked by the second body and it settles for curling around them both instead. The appendage is not strong enough to hold Hannibal in place but he allows it to do so of his own volition, his movements turning shallow, pulling back further only to unblock his airway and allow him to breath through his nose. In his mind, Will looks down and sees the way the man’s throat bulges around his cock as he takes it deep, puts a hand around his throat to feel himself through another man’s body. When he mirrors the motion in reality and feels the bulge just the same, he groans. “Hannibal, I’m going to-”

Hannibal pulls back further, lips tight around the underside of the head, then dives back down and pushes his tongue up, pressing all along the bottom of Will’s cock until he finally comes with a shuddering breath. By the time Will comes back to himself Hannibal has already swallowed everything he had to give and pulled off, though he still has his face buried in Will’s crotch and appears to be inhaling deeply. It’s enough to drive Will to open his eyes, uncurl himself from where he had bent over Hannibal, and pull his head back and away from his body.

The older man’s cheeks are flushed, lips slick and swollen, looking possibly more pleased than Will has ever seen him look before. “Where the hell did you learn to do that?” Will smiles, close to a laugh.

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Hannibal answers with a teasing smile of his own. His voice is rough, a bit crackly, something that threatens to make Will’s arousal return. Once again, the nimble fingers put him back inside his underwear, though by this point the pants are god knows where.

“Bed?” he yawns.

“Bed,” Hannibal agrees, and then instead of letting Will walk upstairs like a normal person he scoops him up as he stands, hands under his thighs, forcing the other man to grab onto his shoulders and curl around his front in order to stop himself from falling.

“Excuse me,” Will protests, something which gets summarily ignored. He takes a hand off a shoulder and lowers it down to where Hannibal is very obviously straining against his slacks, fully accepting of the possibility of this ending with him getting dropped on his ass. Hannibal is quicker, pulling Will just a little bit higher and pressing them closer, positioning him so they grind together with every step.

“Naughty boy,” Hannibal chastises, nipping at Will’s closest ear. “You really must learn to behave.”

“You’d hate that,” Will huffs. Hannibal’s hands on his thighs travel up until they have a firm grip on his ass instead, squeezing roughly. It’s warm, sends that tingling through his body that he now knows from experience means he’s getting hard again. “It’d be boring.”

“I could see its merits.” Hannibal hums thoughtfully, and based on what Will can feel off him he really wishes he could take a closer look and see just what it was Hannibal was imagining. “I suppose, ultimately, you are correct.” They make it up to the master bedroom door. Will tightening his legs around Hannibal’s waist to secure himself well enough that Hannibal is able to remove an arm to open and then close the door behind them. By the time he drops Will onto the bed, he’s hard again.

Will sprawls out on the sheets, stretching and then reaching for Hannibal. “Are you gonna let me…?”

Hannibal catches his wrist before it reaches him and pushes it away. “In time, dear Will. Have you done this before?”

It hits Will, then, that this is finally happening. He smiles. “No, never got this far before.”

He both sees and feels the moment Hannibal freezes. “With men, Hannibal.” Will manages not to roll his eyes. “I’ve slept with women, I’m not a virgin.”

Hannibal regains the ability to move. “Of course. What sort of sexual experiences have you had before, with other men?”

Now he does not fight the urge to roll his eyes. “Don’t start this.” He huffs, then decides to answer regardless. “Quick handjobs in a dirty bathroom in some bar, nothing pretty.”

“I see. Do you have any preferences?”

Will finds that he does not. “If you’ve got something in mind, go for it.”

When Hannibal smiles now, it’s almost predatory. “I believe, in fact, that I do. Take off your shirt and lay on your back, please.”

Will raises an eyebrow but obeys, tossing his shirt carelessly to the floor. Laying on his back is uncomfortable at best, causing him to shift his lower back awkwardly to try and find a position that puts less weight on his tail, an ultimately futile endeavour. Hannibal seems to be undressing as well, though he only gets as far as removing his suit jacket and tie before he glances over at Will and presumably gets distracted.

The hunger flowing out of him is evident, causing Will to realize that for all the time they’ve spent together, Hannibal has never even seen him without a shirt on, much less entirely naked. He is still wearing his underwear but it feels like he might as well not be with the way Hannibal eyes him. The other man does not remain still for long, putting his hands and mouth everywhere he can touch, exploring Will like he’s creating a 3D model of him inside of his head. He probably is, all things considered.

It’s nice, but Will’s attention is drawn to the growing discomfort of laying on his tail. While his erection is not flagging it  _ is _ fading to the back of his mind in favor of more urgent sensations. “Hannibal,” Will calls, the last syllable pitching up as the man in question swipes a tongue over one of Will’s nipples. Not something he’d been expecting to react to- he’ll have to keep that in mind. But first- “My tail, Hannibal.”

Hannibal pulls backwards and blinks a few times, clearing his mind. “Yes, of course. I apologize for losing focus.”

“It’s flattering,” Will laughs, “but I assume you had something in mind to make this less… incredibly uncomfortable.” He’s pulled a bit further down the bed and his hips are urged upwards, far enough to allow Hannibal to slip a pillow beneath them, far enough back that it rests above the beginning of his tail. “This is starting to feel like a prostate exam, you know.”

It earns him a smile. “Are you comfortable enough to remain for a moment?”

Will shifts his hips- it helps, but he’ll soon sink down into the pillow and be nearly right back where he started. “For a moment, yeah.”

“Just a moment,” Hannibal reassures, and he leaves to rummage through a cabinet, just barely visible in the corner of Will’s vision.

“You better not be getting undressed where I can’t see you,” Will calls out. He feels a tendril of mirth spiral out of the man across the room, who returns shortly, setting another pillow on the side of the bed. This one looks larger and sturdier.

“Of course not, dear,” Hannibal murmurs. “Hips up again, please.” He places the new pillow below the first, and pulls Will’s boxer-briefs down and off his body as he goes, a pleased expression blossoming on his face at the soft ‘thwap’ his cock makes when it falls against his stomach. Now, with the two pillows stacked, there will be no danger of unwanted weight being put on his tail. The flip side of this is that the position itself is awkward and embarrassing, his back flat on the bed and then curving upwards near the bottom to shamelessly present his ass, his legs forced to bend and plant on the bed like he’s at a gynecologist. “Is it still uncomfortable?”

“Only mentally,” Will grumbles, flushing as his ears twitch in mild irritation.

“Easily overcome,” Hannibal counters simply. A drawer opens beside Will, just far enough above his head to stop him from bothering to look. Hannibal sets the bottle of lube down where Will can see it to telegraph his intentions.  _ As if it wasn’t already obvious enough,  _ Will thinks to himself, breath hitching. The soft huff of laughter from Hannibal confirms that he accidentally said the words out loud, as usual.

“It’s hard to keep my thoughts inside,” Will grumbles again, blushing quite noticeably now.

“Then don’t,” Hannibal answers, like it really is that easy. His hands move to the buttons of his vest, starts to undo them, a motion that has Will nearly hypnotized.

He has a strong understanding of what Hannibal’s body must look like, thick muscle resting underneath a padding from the inescapable effects of aging, broad shoulders and long legs. Understanding and seeing are two very different things, he knows this intimately, but is still somehow unprepared for what it does to him to actually  _ see _ what’s been hiding underneath those flashy suits and soft sweaters all this time. All at once, he understands Hannibal’s earlier distraction. He leaves his own underwear on and then climbs on the bed, settling between Will’s waiting legs.

“Will,” Hannibal says, voice low but steady. “Since you appear to be capable of multiple orgasms, I’m going to make you come once first, to let you get used to the feeling. Then you may decide if you wish to go further.”

Will groans at the words. It’s not quite dirty talk, more plain honesty, but the images it conjures up in his mind go straight to his dick. “Yeah, sure, got it.” He blinks. “What if three’s my limit?”

“A risk I am willing to take.”

On the bed, Will nods and settles back. If he really wanted to he could curl upwards and watch, but it only makes the position even more awkward and will likely leave him with pinching cramps after the fact. He hears the click of the lube opening and then closing, a faint squelching as Hannibal warms it in his hands, and then the feather-light touch of a finger against his hole. He gasps. It travels upwards, pressing down near the bottom of his perineum, massaging gently before dipping back down to circle at the opening. Hannibal repeats these motions until he suddenly stops, making a frustrated noise. “Your tail, Will.”

Will blinks. He is mildly aware of his tail, trapped between them, twitching back and forth. Based on the even further disarrayed state of Hannibal’s hair it has hit him in the face a number of times. He collects the limb and carefully curls it around the pillows, handing the appendage to Will to hold. Will looks at the tail, looks at Hannibal watching him, and slowly fits the tail between his teeth.

To his credit, Hannibal is able to keep the emotion off his face, but the arousal coming from his ratchets up considerably and his journey back down is significantly faster than his journey up had been. Will may have laughed if he had been able to speak, but it would have been choked off anyways as Hannibal presses his finger against his entrance and suddenly slides it all the way inside, up to the first knuckle. Some sort of questioning noise must escape him, some sort of confusion at the ease based on Hannibal’s answer. “Relaxation is the key,” Hannibal laughs, soft and gentle. “You are a very… accepting person. Call it a calculated risk.”

The meaning behind the words is indecipherable, and Will isn’t sure if he should consider it a compliment or a chastisement. He shifts his hips. It feels strange but not unpleasant, simply a sensation he has not experienced before. The finger pulls back, not entirely out, then pushes back in, this time stopping near the second knuckle. It curls upwards here, seeking something that sends an echo of pleasure through Will’s entire body when it is finally found. Hannibal makes another pleased noise, which thankfully covers the muffled squeak that comes out of Will.

He repeats the motions, rubbing against the prostate every time he reaches it. It builds a slow burning pleasure, not as quick and intense as the last two but something that threatens to consume him entirely. Hannibal’s finger pulls back, entirely out this time, and when the tips of two prod at his entrance they slip inside just as easily as the first had. Will’s back arches, only just- the extra stretch only enhances the feeling, draws even more of his attention to the way Hannibal is touching him so sweetly, deep inside.

Will has no idea what to do with his hands in any situation, so here he is even more hopelessly lost. It takes the touches turning a lot less gentle to move him into action, fisting them around his tail and clinging to it like it gives him control over the situation. The fingers have stopped their shallow thrusts entirely, instead parking themselves directly over his prostate, tracing circles around it before pressing down and rubbing. Will can feel himself trembling. A finger- the thumb, he thinks- presses down against the bottom of his perineum again, the pleasure is catching and morphing into a roaring fire, Hannibal presses all of his fingers  _ down _ and Will is arching off the bed, tail falling out of his mouth as he comes with a cry.

It’s possible he whites out for a moment, for when he returns to himself Hannibal is over him and kissing him, fingers still inside and massaging. The tingling starts from there this time, spreading back up and through him, and Will whines into Hannibal’s mouth as he feels himself harden yet again. “Do you-” Hannibal begins to ask, but he snaps his mouth shut when Will urges him back, off and out of his body. With the free space, Will lifts his hips up and rips the pillows out from under them, turns onto his stomach, raises himself onto his hands and knees and knocks his tail out of the way. This time, he really does hear Hannibal snarl.

Hannibal loses his underwear so quickly that Will half believes he simply tore them off, something he is only aware of because of how quickly he feels the other man sink into him, slow and unrelenting. Both of them make pleased sighs, the noises echoes of each other. Only Will’s is followed by a soft curse. A hand curls around the base of his tail and it’s obvious that Hannibal is considering a question, both from his hesitation and the mild uncertainty Will can sense. “Ask,” he gasps, hips shifting. It doesn’t feel strange like he had been expecting, more like weirdly comforting. He supposes a tiny part of him, illogical and driven by insecurity, had always been afraid that Hannibal really didn’t want to touch him. Now, it is undeniable that his doubts, however quiet, were unfounded. “You want- ask, Hannibal.”

The hand travels up the tail, the other curling around Will’s torso, just above his waist. “Your tail.” Hannibal seems to be having as much difficulty staying coherent as Will is, much to his delight. “How sensitive-” he tugs on it, drawing a gasp out of Will. “Does it hurt you?”

Will thinks he may be in real danger of his arms collapsing, but he stays upright. “It, uh. It’s not the same as an arm. It-” He pulls forward, not enough to dislodge Hannibal’s cock, and the other man pulls him back by the tail. “Holy fuck,” Will chokes. “That’s fine, that’s totally fine, just take it slow if you’re-” He moves forward again, feels Hannibal wrap his tail around his forearm to secure his grip before pulling him back down, faster but still not too harshly. “ _ Yes, _ ” Will hisses, “Keep doing that.”

“If I must,” Hannibal manages to sigh, feigning disinterest admirably. He allows Will to time the thrusts, doesn’t force him forwards or pull him back any quicker each time. It’s not the quick, burning thing either of them had expected, something gentler and somehow more intimate. Will hates being touched in general by most people, but his tail in particular he is the most protective of, even long before strangers would try and paw at it without his permission. He is quite protective of it, and now he’s letting Hannibal use it like a fucking handle. Unbidden, a low purr starts in Will’s chest, traveling up his throat and escaping out his mouth. It makes Hannibal’s breathing stutter.

Hannibal leans over Will, the hand above his waist finding a new home flat on the headboard, keeping him balanced with his other still pulling back behind them both. He angles his hips and now every time he pulls Will back the head of his cock pushes hard onto his prostate before slipping past and going deeper. “Will,” he murmurs, and the man below him twists to look up, his own hand rising to hook on top of the wooden headboard. Will looks up at him, eyes half-closed in contentment, opening his mouth when Hannibal leans down to kiss him.

Will does not pull as far away now and Hannibal does not pull him all the way back, his cockhead slowly pressing into and then over Will’s prostate before reversing its journey. Everything is still just as slow but now more focused, the uninterrupted contact driving Will further and further towards that blinding pleasure, He almost wants to increase the pace, can feel the tension in Hannibal as he refrains from doing so, but he keeps considering and considering until the point becomes moot because he’s coming with a gasp, the purring barely stopping.

The tingling he expects, though the force of it takes him by surprise, rushing out from where they are connected and enveloping him so rapidly he wonders if his erection flagged even in the slightest. He whines, words seem so far away, entirely too much effort for the moment when they’re barely needed. His ears tilt back in distress- it’s all too little now. He doesn’t know how to communicate his desires so he just pulls back and breaks the kiss, nuzzles along Hannibal’s jaw and bites down hard enough to sting but soft enough not to leave a mark. Further back, he feels that while Hannibal has released his grip on his tail it still curls loosely around his forearm, some of it trapped between the limb and Will’s hip when Hannibal settles that hand on his waist. Will whines again, drops his head below his shoulders and pushes back.

“You beg so sweetly, darling,” Hannibal groans. He pulls back on his own and then thrusts back in, sharp and sudden in a way that makes Will cry out. Another follows, faster, this time with Will pushing back to meet his hips, a high noise escaping him. “Such noises you are making. Can you hear yourself, Will?”

Will twists his body back upwards, towards Hannibal. His intention is to shoot the man a withering look, high-pitched moans be damned, but he simply takes advantage of the movement, rearranging himself until his own broad hand covers Will’s atop the headboard, the other snaking up beneath his chest and finally freeing his tail. That hand ends its journey as fingers spread wide over Will’s throat, curling under his chin and tilting his head to the side, exposing his marked neck further. At the same time that Hannibal’s lips find the spaces between the marks he left earlier, he finally begins fucking Will in earnest. 

The pace Hannibal sets is fast enough that Will can barely meet the thrusts, would likely have had trouble even if he was fully in control of his facilities. Now, with the way everything is fuzzing and bleeding away, it’s next to impossible, and when Hannibal picks it up even further he simply gives up and lets the other man do as he likes. The sensation is reminiscent of how he feels when he drifts. It would worry him, particularly since he has actually drifted away entirely during sex on one particularly embarassing occassion, but Hannibal’s lips and teeth and touch keep him grounded as they always do.

Evidently not well enough, based on the way he hears his name growled in a warning. He tries to apologize but the words don’t come out, and so he simply bows his back and raises his hips, a long hissing moan escaping him when the change proves to be beneficial. The pleasure now is nearly blinding, drowning out all other sensation to the point where he can barely feel Hannibal moving down his neck, leaving marks along his collarbone and then back up, past his neck and up his jaw, teeth running along the edge of his ear. He feels the way Hannibal is pushing inside of him, steady rhythm faltering as he gets close, the way he bites down and traps his ear inside his mouth, his hands covering his own and spanning across his neck, and the last conscious thought he has before coming harder than he thought was possible is  _ finally. _

He isn’t entirely sure if what he’s doing is passing out or simply falling asleep, but he’s pulled back minutely by the sound of Hannibal repeatedly sneezing above him. “Apologies,” the man says, voice still not entirely even. “A bit of your fur appears to have gone up my nose.”

Will wouldn’t have said it was possible before tonight, but he falls asleep laughing.

Will wakes up throbbing. His lower back hurts, and he can tell from the way it twinges when he shifts his legs that he’ll be feeling it when he tries to walk, both his back and something far more intimate. Instead of opening his eyes, he groans.

Eventually, he cracks his eyes open and finds that he is alone. Hannibal is likely downstairs cooking, a deduction that is confirmed when the rest of his brain boots back online and he smells something delicious wafting up the stairs. Pushing himself up into a kneeling position, he takes a deep breath before attempting to stand, pleased to find it’s nothing worse than a deeply embedded soreness. He staggers into the bathroom and flicks on the light, wincing at the sudden brightness. It quickly morphs into a scowl when he sees himself in the bathroom mirror.

The left side of his neck is mottled with an uncountable number of hickeys and bite marks, enough that he wonders if Hannibal’s plan was to connect them all into one giant mass so he could tell everyone he was struck in the neck with a metal bat. A quick check reveals the rest of him to be clean, inside and out, so he simply brushes his teeth before pulling on whatever clothes he can reach and making his way downstairs.

“Good morning, William,” Hannibal greets him, an aura of pleased satisfaction radiating from him with a brilliance similar to that of the sun. His eyes tick down to Will’s neck and widen briefly. He attempts to recover with a cough. “How are you feeling?”

“What time is it?” Will asks instead of answering the question. “Thank you for… dragging me into the shower while I was passed out, or whatever it is you did.”

“It is just before nine,” Hannibal supplies with a nod. He plates the breakfast- omelettes, it turns out- and carries them over to the island Will is half-slumped over. “I assume you will be wanted at Quantico shortly?”

“Probably an hour ago,” Will shrugs, taking the glass of pale yellow juice he is handed after Hannibal makes another trip to where he had been cooking. It’s both sweet and tart and incredibly refreshing. “What is this? It’s fantastic.”

“Passion fruit lemonade,” Hannibal smiles. “I thought perhaps something more nutritious than coffee, after-”

“We can talk about that later,” Will interrupts, tucking into the food. “Probably should. It was… strange.”

There is a beat of silence. “Only strange?”

Will huffs and his ears twitch. “No, of course not, that’s just the only thing we should talk about. Stop fishing for compliments unless you want me to make a powerpoint presentation about how that was the best sex of my life. With effects and everything.”

“I would… not be opposed.”

“Clearly you haven’t seen what I make when they ask me to give guest lectures.”

A soft laugh, fond. “I suppose you are correct. Will you be leaving after breakfast?”

Will sighs and leans back, food already inhaled. He knows Hannibal would be frowning at him if he hadn’t had such a vigorous workout the night before. “Yeah, I think I need to, as much as I don’t want to leave.”

“Come back tonight.” It’s barely a request. Will smiles.

“Alright,” he agrees softly. “You have patients today, right?”

“Until six. I can pick you up at Quantico around then.”

Will nods. “Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll let you know if I’m somewhere else by then. Car should be fine in the lot.” He stands, and stretches. “Now, since this is your fault…” He waves a hand towards his mottled neck. “Any bright ideas what to do about this?”

In the end, Hannibal produces a turtleneck. It’s just as suspicious as wearing a scarf indoors would have been but easier to explain away. The shirt would have run a little small on Hannibal which meant it fit well across Will’s shoulders and only hung a little loosely around his narrower waist, most of which was eaten up by the slight bump his tail created. It would take a sharp eye to notice it was not his own piece of clothing, so naturally everyone he works with calls it out immediately.

Everyone that draws attention to it accepts the excuse of ‘it’s comforting’ other than Beverly, who he knew nothing would fool regardless. The mood in the office is quite grim anyways and no one feels like pressing the matter after the case they had just wrapped up. Even though the killer had been arrested and the trial would be a slam dunk, it feels like a hollow victory. By the time he’s turning in his paperwork to Jack, all traces of cheer from the night before had well and truly been stamped out of Will’s mind. “Do you know when the funeral will be?” Will asks, eyes low.

“For Kevin?” Jack clarifies, and Will nods. “Here. I thought you might ask.” He hands Will a paper with all the information needed, and it takes everything in the other man not to crumple it in his hands. “You can go ahead and head out, Will. I’ll call you if I need anything.”

At this point it’s barely two. Will had already asked a neighbor to look after his dogs for the day, not wanting to deal with the added stress of making the trips to and from Wolf Trap on top of everything else. He’d head to the library. It was always a good place to distract himself, keep him from floating away but focused on whatever he finds to parse through. Maybe find a cafe first and get some coffee. He’ll walk. Once he gets to the library he can shoot Hannibal a text and let him know where to find him. 

The walk helps to divert his mind, to an extent. If he focuses on his sore muscles and the faint ache between his legs it steers his mind away from the case and planning on what to wear to the funeral in a week’s time, towards more pleasant things. Maybe he really would make that powerpoint for Hannibal; it’d certainly keep him occupied. He tries to imagine the look of horror that would grace Hannibal’s face when the text spins on screen, bold and-

A hand covers his eyes and a strong arm wraps around his middle, lifting him up with terrifying ease. Will kicks out futilely, aware he’s being carried backwards into what has to be an alley. The spell works quickly and he cannot make a sound before the effort becomes impossible, the world darkens around him, he feels himself both falling and floating, fading further, further, gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you really hate cliffhangers or were desperately waiting for some sort of satisfying resolution, well... you might want to wait until next week when chapter nine goes up as well.

Will wakes shaking, covered in the sweat of a nightmare. He remembers fire, sinking deeper and deeper into a vast ocean, falling through the sky with no land in sight. Remembers a creature he hasn’t seen in a long time, an imposing back stag covered with feathers instead of fur. It stood in the forest and watched him while he burned.

The curtains are open, letting in the golden midday light and illuminating the unfamiliar room he finds himself in. He flips onto his stomach on the bed and clutches the pillow tightly until his shaking eases. Takes a deep breath, in and out, and tries to recollect his scattered thoughts.

He’s clearly been abducted, that much is obvious, as he recognizes neither the room he is in nor the trees of a forest he can see out the window. He cannot even tell the size of it, cannot tell if he is deep in the woods or maybe just on a property on the edge of it. Nothing is restraining him, he is still wearing the same clothes minus shoes and jacket, and he can even see his messenger bag propped up against the bedside table next to him. When he leans down he does not touch the item, stopping no more than an inch away from it, grimacing when he feels the faint signature of a powerful heat. Whether it’s a trap or a test he does not know, but a circuit around the room confirms that all possible exits or weapons are enchanted in a similar manner.

Whoever or whatever has abducted him is so confident of their own power that they are letting Will roam free, to an extent. The thought of who could manage that is worrying enough that when he hears the click of the lock and the rattle of the doorknob he moves back to the window, as far from the door as he can manage, ears down and flat against his skull.

The man that enters is a total stranger. Tall, very well built with short brown hair, what appears to be a cleft lip parting the flesh up towards his nose. He enters and does not speak, simply watches Will impassively. “Why am I here?” Will eventually asks, for he is clearly here for a reason. His tail is swishing behind him in agitation.

“I will not hurt you,” the man replies, his voice low and scratchy. “You are no use to me injured.”

“While that’s incredibly reassuring,” Will sneers, unable to stop the way he prickles at the situation, “you didn’t answer my question.” It’s incredibly dangerous to be testing his abductor’s patience but he simply cannot help himself.

The man’s lip curls up in what might be the beginning of a growl but he seems to collect himself and smooths back to neutral. “Your familiar,” is what he says instead of an answer. “Is it going to be a problem?”

Will probably could have taken advantage of this question, spinning some grand story about how his familiar would be going to the police shortly and try to negotiate his release. Instead, he is so caught off guard by the question that his ears flick back upwards and he answers honestly. “My familiar?” He glances to the side, where he knows his bag sits on the other side of the bed. “Are you talking about my laptop?”

The abductor gives him an exasperated look, something that looks comically out of place on the giant, stern man. “Your familiar,” he repeats, slower, like he is talking to a child.

“I don’t have one,” Will snaps, irritated. 

“Even if you did not create it, it belongs to you know.” The other man does growl now, clearly losing patience. He’s not the only one.

“I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about,” Will hisses. “Did you snatch the wrong guy?”

“Will Graham. You work for the FBI’s behavioural analysis unit under Jack Crawford. Live in Wolf Trap with six dogs, currently dating doctor Hannibal Lecter. While you have come to the public’s attention recently due to the unique transformation spell that has been cast on you, you were previously known mainly for your unique seer-like magic. You grew up in Louisiana and were considering becoming a cop before Jack caught wind of your magic and steered you towards the FBI instead. On Tuesday you went grocery shopping, only to drop the milk on the ground outside your home and lose all of it.  _ I do not make mistakes. _ ”

“Okay, jesus, I get it.” Will holds up his hands in a vaguely placating gesture. “You…” he frowns. “You want me for my empathy, don’t you?”

“Your familiar,” the man repeats through gritted teeth.

“I-” Will’s mouth snaps shut as he goes over what has just been said to him. “You said six dogs,” he says, the words cautious. “I have seven.”

“You have six dogs and a familiar.”

“This is going in circles,” Will sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, even if one of my dogs  _ is  _ a familiar this is my first time hearing about it so I haven’t had the chance to booby trap it or whatever it is you’re concerned about, alright?”

The man steps forward and Will takes a step back. “Can I trust you to be telling me the truth?”

Will’s mouth curls open in a scowl. “As much as I can trust you. Why even ask me if you were just going to ignore my answer?”

“I administered a truth potion just before you woke up.”

It rankles Will, somehow more than actually being kidnapped. “Why am I here?” he asks again.

“To See,” the man finally answers.

“What am I looking at?” Will has been asked to use his empathy magic more times than he can count, and he has gotten quite used to all the strange, reverent ways people have described it, including a capitalization he can almost hear in their tone. He has also found that, when under duress, it’s far simpler to just do what is asked of him. As long as he isn’t hiding a body somewhere it should be fine without any sort of grounding tool.

Now the man moves to the most open area of the room, where Will can see him more easily. “You will Look at me.”

Will blinks. It’s an unusual request, as most people were painfully aware of what they kept hidden inside themselves. “Okay.” He takes a deep breath and forces himself to walk forwards, until he has a clear view of his captor. He closes his eyes, opens them, then immediately has to rip himself out of the vision, stumbling backwards and falling heavily onto the ground with a gasp. His tail barely flicks out of the way in time.

The man does not looked surprised by his reaction. “What did you see?”

“Two beings, wrapped together into one,” Will whispers. It had been a swirl of two colors, like a point where two bodies of water meet and mix. He pulls his legs up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. “I can’t look, not without something to tether me.”

“Then I will find something.” He doesn’t ask what Will needs, just turns and leaves, locking the door behind him.

Will curls himself tighter and thinks. He’s never seen anything like this before- even looking at multiple bodies the forms had edges, outlines, they just tended to twist together so thoroughly that they became meaningless. This… it was like there were two souls inside of him. One had been the serious man he had spoken to, and the other was something monstrous, screaming for its release. Nothing good would happen if it got its way.

He growls, because he doesn’t have time to be worrying about whatever strange situation is going on with the man that kidnapped him. Once the shaking has subsided he uncurls himself and stands. This time, when he explores the room, he does it with his magic active. While he isn’t particularly talented as far as disabling things goes, if anything is done sloppily enough he should be able to pick the spells apart and possibly escape.

Everything that he sees radiates that same heat- probably the magician’s signature. A pyromancer, and from the quality of the spells, a powerful one at that. They all look air tight. Will blinks the vision away with a sigh. His earlier observation proves true, with all the entrances very obviously trapped and various objects wrapped in more complex enchantments. If he picks up the vase it remains only faintly warm, but the quicker he moves it the stronger the heat grows. His bag grows hotter the closer he gets to the clasp, the electric razor grows hotter if he tries to remove the guard, the doorknob to the hallway door nearly burns him when he simply hovers his hand above it. He has no chance of escaping with the door closed and has serious doubts about his ability to overpower the man and make a break for it once he’s come inside. It doesn’t look good.

Hannibal would raise the alarm when he cannot find Will. Even better, Will had not yet had the chance to text him to tell him he was going somewhere else, so he will conveniently already be at Quantico when he starts to catch on that something is wrong. Jack will be suspicious as well, likely Beverly too, and it won’t take long for them to start an investigation. May already have- Will isn’t quite sure what day it is, if he was kept unconscious through the night or if it’s barely been an hour since he was abducted. 

The problem is that they have absolutely nothing to go on. He hadn’t told anyone where he was going and Will doubts he would have been snatched if there had been any potential witnesses around. The man has clearly been watching him for a while, waiting for the right moment to swoop in. He’s- his magic, it’s a deep orange. The tears in his wards the night he was attacked had looked red to him but he was obviously distressed, could have been mistaken. But if this man wanted him for him magic, what the hell would the point of trying to kill him have been? Nothing made any fucking sense.

Will sits heavily onto the bed with a frustrated growl. If the man had left without asking him what he needed it could only mean that he already knew. There’s no chance he’s going to come back with Hannibal, though it doesn’t stop a sharp spike of anxiety from spearing through him. Any sort of living animal was likely out of the question, particularly if the man was convinced that Winston was his familiar.

He frowns, changes direction. It had to be Winston the man was suspicious of, nothing else would fit. He had seemed so convinced of the fact to the point where Will’s denials infuriated him despite the fact that he knew his captive could not lie. It was true that Winston had done things familiars were often capable of- he was very protective, he had helped Will the night he was attacked, even possibly corralled all his dogs and brought them home when Will was unresponsive in the river. But then why leave him in the river to begin with? Then there was the most obvious factor; Will had not  _ made  _ Winston, he had found him by the side of the road. You don’t just stumble across a familiar. It simply wasn’t possible.

Overthinking won’t do him any good now. He needs a better understanding of his situation before he makes any decisions. There is a bookcase against the wall, filled with the sort of thing Will usually likes to read, and he pulls one off at random. He doesn’t think about how the personalized bookshelf and the attached bathroom all point to intended long-term captivity. It does him no good to dwell on it now.

His captor returns several hours later, handing him a familiar red sweater. It still smells like Hannibal, and Will’s eyes widen. “You didn’t-”

“He was not home,” the man interrupts. “They are all out looking for you. It was simple to break in.”

Will lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “I don’t know if this will work,” he warns.

“Try.”

The sweater is soft in his hands. He clutches it tighter and takes a moment to steel himself before closing his eyes.

It’s still difficult and overwhelming to look into the man, but with Hannibal’s sweater clutched against his chest he can endure it. Will picks carefully around the swirling blackness and reaches into the patches of orange he can see. “You’re afraid,” he begins, head cocking slightly. “You’re afraid it will consume you. It’s been with you all your life but it’s grown teeth and claws, too much for you to control.”

“I don’t want you to look at  _ me _ ,” the man warns and the words echo, ping off insecurities and flashes of turning his face down and away, avoiding face-to-face interaction whenever possible, cruel jabs from childhood-

Will shakes his head, tries to dislodge the clawing thoughts, turns towards the blackness. He hesitates before he reaches inside. “It wants… to consume everything,” he says slowly. The darkness does not think in words, only powerful flashes of emotion. “If you let it, it will destroy you. It’s already starting to corrupt. You’ve fought it for so long but it only grows stronger. Soon you will be bending to its every whim, giving it what it desires, feeding it until it grows and grows and finally breaks free. Stop fighting. It’s useless, you know I’ll win eventually-”

“Enough!” the man bellows. Will startles and blinks, the light fading from his eyes. 

Even he had felt it, seeping into his consciousness. He has no idea how this man has fought it for so long.

“Who will win?” the man growls. “Me, or the Dragon?”

“I, uh…” Will’s head is still swimming from the intrusion. “I’m not an oracle, I can’t see the future. I have no idea.”

“I know that,” he hisses, anger evident. “I am asking for your opinion.”

Will could tell dishonesty would only hurt him here. “If you don’t get some sort of help with it, it will overwhelm you and you will be lost to it entirely. You need to find a magician that can help you keep it at bay.”

The man looks away, trying to hide his disappointment. “Very well. You are free to use anything in the room and I will bring you meals. I will open your bag for you. There is no internet so you may use your laptop.”

“You’re not going to let me go? I can’t do anything else for you.” It’s a stupid question, but Will cannot stop himself from asking it.

“A risk I can’t afford,” the man nods. “You will remain here.”

“I have no idea who you are, where I am, there’s nothing I could trace back to you-”

“I know very well who you are,” the man growls. “If you try, you will find me.” He crouches, runs a finger across the clasp of Will’s bag like he’s cutting something with his fingernail. “The Dragon will have me in time. We will fight, and one way or another, you will witness my becoming.” Then he leaves, and Will is alone to face the true reality of his situation. 

Will’s captor is kind to him, all things considered. He is brought regular meals that appear to be home-cooked, and while he has been spoiled on Hannibal’s cooking for quite some time, he is still able to realize this man has some ability of his own. The bookshelf is full to bursting with entertainment, he was allowed a deck of cards, and he gets plenty of natural sunlight from the large window looking out towards the forest. His laptop is not worth much with no internet connection but he finds another use for it; knowing it’s safe, he writes down every tiniest bit of information about his captor, the situation he’s in, and where he might be located. It won’t be much help but if they find him as a corpse, it’ll at least explain what happened to him.

Every morning, when he comes to collect the breakfast dishes, his captor makes him look. Every day, he sees the darkness growing, glacially slow but unmistakable in its progress.

Sometimes Will stands and looks outside the window, out towards freedom, a reminder that he may never experience it again. When he sleeps, he dreams of killing his captor, of running through the forest, and of Hannibal.

One morning, no more than a few days after his abduction, the man does not leave immediately after Will has used his powers. He seems strangely fidgety, clearly struggling with the desire to say something but lacking the confidence to do so. Will sighs. “Just say it.”

The man’s head snaps up, all traces of nervousness gone. “A… guest will be coming over, soon. Do not make any noise or do anything to alert her to your presence. If she discovers you are here, I will kill her without hesitation.”

Will cocks his head to the side, considering. “Understood,” he answers softly, tail flicking back and forth minutely. His captor’s lips twitch up in what looks like the beginnings of a snarl but he simply turns on his heel and leaves. It was not an empty threat, that much was obvious, but it has been accompanied by a powerful surge of anxiety, tinged with desperation.  _ Please, don’t make me kill her. _

Not much later he can hear a knocking on what must be the front door. He moves as close to the door to his room as he can get, falls still, and listens. It’s too muffled for him to make out words but he hears, along with the man’s voice, the voice of a woman. The man’s tone is uncertain, clearly nervous, but the woman is pleasant and enthusiastic. Whoever she is, she knows the man well enough to be used to his antisocial tendencies, and doesn’t seem to mind them. They remain in a room on the opposite side of the house as the one Will is trapped in.

He’s so focused on listening to the conversation that he nearly misses it when one of them stands and starts to walk towards him. The steps are slow and careful, belonging to the woman, finally coming to rest just in front of Will’s door. He can hear her breathing. It would be so easy to lean over, tap an SOS against the door, his captor is still on the other side of the house and probably wouldn’t even notice- but if she trusts him, she may simply ask him about it and earn her own death. The moment passes before Will can decide, broken by the sound of the man’s voice coming from the hallway. “No, Reba, it’s further down.”

“Oh!” the woman laughs. “I’m sorry, it can be difficult to navigate in new places for me.” She walks away. There is no offer of assistance- presumably it was already given and in turn rejected.

Once they have returned to their previous room, Will adjusts the frame of the house in his mind. The man would not have sent her past his door as some sort of strange test, not with how he wanted to stop himself from hurting her, so it was small enough to only have one bathroom aside from his ensuite. That meant he was in the master bedroom. Likely one story, two bedrooms, a larger single family home. He had heard the man above him before, but it could easily just be an attic space. Freedom is out the door and to the left. The woman finally departs, alive.

The man thanks him when he brings Will lunch. “Is she blind?” Will asks. It’s an educated guess- something about her behavior made him think it went further than just getting confused in a new house. 

“Yes,” the man confirms.

“She’s what triggered this. The sudden concern.” When the man looks at Will curiously, Will continues. “You’ve lived with this your whole life, accepted it. Accepted that it was inevitable. But now that you have something to lose, you find that you’re no longer as willing as you thought you were.”

The statement produces another one of those aborted snarls, followed by the man’s predictable departure. Will sighs, and eats what he was given.

More days pass. It’s been about a week since he was abducted and Will is sitting on the bed, staring numbly at the paper in his hands. The funeral is tomorrow.

His captor finds him like this when he brings him food. The man sets down the tray and snatches the paper out of Will’s hands, put on edge by the newness of it. As he scans it he starts to frown. “It was in my bag,” Will offers, running a hand through his hair. The other joins it, tugging at his curls before moving to cover his face. “Fuck,” he whispers.

“This is… a victim from your last case.” It’s not quite a question. “You were going to attend?” Will can only nod. They are both silent for a while. Then- “It is my fault that you will miss this. It is only fair that I attend it in your absence.

The hands fall away from Will’s face and he looks up, eyes wide with shock. “What?”

“I will go in your place. You have done me a favor, so I will do you one in return.”

“That’s insane. There’s no way there won’t be people from the BAU there.” Will is kicking himself for trying to talk the man out of it, but the absurdity of the situation has him spinning.

“They do not know me,” comes the simple reply. Will takes the paper when it is handed back and stares at it like it’s alien. He doesn’t even hear the man leave.

The next day, he is brought breakfast by a man dressed in black. He eats and tries not to think.

Will is pacing when a fount of rage bursts into the house. Rapid steps lead to his door, throw it open, and before he can even blink there is a hand around his throat pinning him to the wall. His hands scrabble against the iron grip, legs desperately trying to find the purchase he is being denied. “I do not appreciate being tricked,” the man growls.

“What-” Will gasps. The hand around his throat tightens.

“Your partner was there, along with your familiar. He cornered me after the funeral and I barely escaped.”

“Wh-” his vision is getting spotty, his head is swimming. “Winston?” He is released with a gasp, sliding to the ground, coughing and taking in huge gulps of air.

The man crouches in front of him, fisting a hand through his curls and wrenching his head back. “Do not mock me,” he hisses, fury exploding off of him.

“I don’t-” Will coughs. His ears, already flat against his head, tilt down even further and he has to suppress the urge to hiss. “I don’t know what you’re-”

“Not your familiar. Lecter.” The hand is on his throat again, pressing down. “He knew me immediately. How?” The pressure abates.

“ _ I don’t know, _ ” Will gasps. “He’s not magical, he doesn’t have any powers, I don’t understand what you’re talking about-”

A hand, open palmed, slaps him. “ _ Do not mock me, _ ” the man repeats. “Do not lie to my face.”

“I’m not lying!” Will protests. “I don’t-”

His head is pulled forward and then dashed against the wall, pulling out a gasp of pain. The man throws him onto the ground, stunned. “You are lucky that I require your powers. I would have killed you for this otherwise.”

Will hears footsteps and the door slam, but it seems far away. He wasn’t struck hard enough to do serious damage but he is dazed. The thoughts running through his mind do nothing to bring him back to reality.

Hannibal had been at the funeral. Hannibal had Winston, who his captor is convinced is Will’s familiar. His captor, who was so confident in his own power that he leaves Will alone to roam freely in his own space, was  _ afraid of Hannibal. _

None of it makes sense. A sob rips it’s way out of Will’s throat, part pain, part frustration.  _ Nothing makes sense. _

But deep down, he knows it does.

Will waits until the next day to start. He works on his laptop, organizing and collating everything he knows, everything that seemed just a little bit off. Hannibal’s easy acceptance of Winston’s unusual nature. The way everyone happily does what he asks of him. The way he always shows up right when Will needs him to, but not soon enough to actually save him.

It could be nothing more than coincidence, but there’s a limit to it. His captor can’t be considered a reliable source of information, Will is certain of that much, knows it would be stupid to trust him. Even so, the words they’ve exchanged rattle around inside his skull, pinging off the walls and colliding into something larger, something dark and hidden he never quite noticed before now.

Will closes his laptop, filled with words he doesn’t need, and leans back against the pillows. Hannibal won’t let Will use his magic to look at him, and Will had never felt the urge to press. It’s odd that he didn’t, because that would normally be a huge red flag for him, but instead he just accepted it. Hannibal has no magical experience or powers, yet he decided to attempt and mostly successfully cast an incredibly complex ritual. Will closes his eyes, trying to pull forth memories of the night he was attacked and finding them covered in a fog. He turns his powers inwards, focuses until he can slog through the mist despite every part of him telling him to turn back. He pierces through and sees Hannibal’s hand, reaching to stop him as he tries to walk forwards, dyed a brilliant red.

A commotion at the door snaps him out of his trance. He hears voices- his captor’s, low and warning, and another, stern and authoritative and steady, familiar-  _ Jack. _

Will picks up the vase and throws it across the room, hissing at the burning pain in his hands as the spell activates. It makes a terribly loud noise as it shatters. “Jack!” Will screams, louder than he has in his entire life. “Jack, I’m in here!”

The commotion erupts into a fight, crashing and a scream. For one terrible moment Will thinks it may be Jack, but then there is a rush of footsteps, a pounding at the door, and the doorknob rattling. “Will, stand back. I’m going to try to break the door down.”

“Jack, wait, it’s-” but the door buckles inwards quite easily, with no flash of fire or heat. The hallway outside might be the most beautiful thing Will has seen in his entire life. “I-It was trapped,” he stutters. “What-”

“He appears to be comatose,” Jack answers grimly. “When I touched him, some sort of spell activated. Probably a last resort defense.”

Will frowns. Everything he knew about the man points away from him booby trapping himself. He would win or die fighting. Unless- “Is Hannibal here?”

“Outside,” Jack confirms, and Will is walking quickly out of his prison, through the house and into the daylight. 

Hannibal’s head jerks up, almost as if he could sense Will was emerging. The look on his face is an exhausted sort of relief. Winston sits next to him, and the sight sends a sharp pain through Will’s heart. He rushes to the other man, allows himself to be pulled into a crushing hug, face tucked under his chin and hidden against his chest. “Will,” Hannibal exhales, pressing frantic kisses to the top of his head. “I feared the worst.”

Will allows himself a moment to enjoy this, the reassurance and comfort it provides. “Hannibal,” he sighs, hands reaching up to cling to the other man. “I’m sorry.” He inhales and brings forth his power.

He feels Hannibal go entirely still around him, feels the way his emotions fade away. Will keeps his eyes open, forcing himself to watch as the chest of the man he might have loved ripples and dissolves, replaced by a deep, blood red.

The hand that had slipped into his hair tightens, pulls until it’s painful, shocking Will out of his powers. He feels, once again, his consciousness slipping away from him, the last thing he feels being the deep and broken sob that forces its way up his throat and out of his mouth. Then, nothing. 


	9. Chapter 9

When Will wakes up in a bedroom that is not his own, an icy cold panic starts to creep over him until he recognizes the sheets, the bed, the scent, all from Hannibal. For a moment, he relaxes as he sits up, and then everything comes rushing back to him and the panic redoubles its efforts. A soft woof from the ground nearby snaps him out of it, his head jerking to the side to land on Winston, sitting right at the edge of the bed, looking at him with his head cocked. “What happened…?” he wonders aloud, watching as Winston’s head tips to the other side. Hannibal had clearly knocked him out after he had seen-

He can’t think about it, not right now. Every part of him wants to be relaxed, wants to be soothed by his surroundings, but Hannibal is not the man he thought he was. He knows that if he tried to leave the room he would find himself unable to do so. Instead, he turns his thoughts to Winston, and the seed of knowledge his first captor had planted in his mind. “If you are a- my familiar…” Will trails off. Often, familiars had abilities resembling the innate talents of their masters, but he had not actually  _ made _ Winston. Well, he didn’t lose anything by trying. “Can you show me?”

Winston jumps up on the bed, laying down and placing his head on Will’s lap. Will takes it in his hands and is compelled to close his eyes.

What he sees starts with Hannibal and Jack outside of the house he had been held prisoner, several cop cars waiting just beyond the treeline and somewhat out of sight. The pair are talking, Hannibal puts his hand on Jack’s shoulder and Will- Winston, he supposes- sees a tendril of red blossom forth from his fingers and wind down the other man’s shoulder, curling around his hands. Jack departs from the house, and Winston barks. “He is unharmed,” Hannibal murmurs, ruffling Winston’s fur. “Physically, at the very least. We would know otherwise. Do not worry- we will not be separated much longer.” A faint noise from the house causes Winston’s head to snap towards it, ears perked up, tension radiating off Hannibal beside him. It’s faint, weaker than what Will can feel himself, but it seems Winston bears some of his power after all.

There is a fight followed by a flash of red, and only then does Hannibal relax. He feels almost… pleased. Will wants to look away when he sees himself emerge from the building, harried and frantic, but these are not his memories and he can only watch as he nearly runs into Hannibal’s arms. He knows what happens now, does not hear the words, sees a blue light expand from deep within him and pulse throughout his body, sees Hannibal jerk his hair harshly and the light fade, replaced by wisps of red traveling into him from Hannibal. When he collapses against the other man’s body, Hannibal bears his weight easily. Will is a bit surprised to find that Hannibal simply holds him, a hand running through his hair slowly, the other resting possessively on the small of his back. They remain that way even when Jack makes his way over.

“He has undergone a great deal of stress,” Hannibal offers in way of explanation. “I imagine he is exhausted.” Then, so faintly Will almost misses it, a thin line of red floats towards Jack, touches his forehead and sinks inside.

“I can’t say I blame him,” Jack grunts. “Well, we can talk to him about this later. If you want to take him somewhere to rest, I won’t stop you.”

It’s so utterly unlike anything Jack would have said or done that instantly, Will thinks he understands the nature of Hannibal’s power. Outright controlling someone is extremely difficult, but simply planting the suggestion, letting them think they’ve come up with the idea on their own- magically, it’s laughably simple. The trouble comes from doing it correctly.

He doesn’t need to watch Hannibal shove his limp body into the car, drive him back to his home, change his clothes and tuck him into bed. Will opens his eyes, shakes his head to clear the foggy feeling, and looks back down at Winston. The dog looks back.

Will’s ears rotate, hone in on footsteps, so he is mentally prepared when the door opens to reveal Hannibal with a tray of breakfast balanced on one hand. It explains the delay between Will waking and Hannibal arriving, because he does not believe for a second that Hannibal was not aware of the moment he roused. Winston turns, sits up on the bed, positions himself protectively between the two men. It makes Hannibal’s mouth tick down, only briefly before he smoothes it back to neutral. “I see you have realized what Winston is.”

“Let me leave,” is all Will says in return. Now, Hannibal does frown.

“I am not holding you captive, Will. I simply believe that we should talk before you take action.”

“What did you do to Jack?”

Hannibal cocks his head, looks at Winston. “Simple persuasion.” He walks carefully over to Will, leaves the tray on the bedside table and then backs away, taking care to remain far enough away to not anger the dog. 

“Why?” Will drops his gaze, puts his hands over his eyes and presses down. “Why?”

“Because I truly believe that we can talk about this,” Hannibal repeats, more conviction behind this. “I will tell you whatever you wish to know.”

Now, Will looks up. “You’re magical.” Hannibal nods. “You always have been, haven’t you. Why are you hiding it?”

“The magic I use is… not of a sort that most would be accepting of.”

“It’s red,” Will murmurs, looking away. “When I see it, and when Winston does.”

“Curious.” Hannibal takes a step closer, halting when Winston’s hackles raise. “He sees both mine and yours?”

Will says nothing. He sees the house in the forest through Winston’s eyes, no trace of the red-orange magic Will knew had adorned it. “Why both?”

“He sees yours because you are his master,” Hannibal says, voice even, “and mine because I created him.”

“Uncle,” Will says suddenly, so abruptly that Hannibal even looks a little confused. “Stop. I need- I’m not going anywhere, just give me some time to- to process this.”

Hannibal steps back, no trace of irritation or displeasure on him. “Understood. Please, eat, and bring the dishes down when you are ready.” He leaves, closing the door behind him.

It isn’t sealed. If he wanted, Will could probably sneak out and run before Hannibal catches him. The man is trusting him, apparently making a sincere effort, and that is why Will remains and eats the food that Hannibal has made for him.

When he brings the dishes down he thinks he has an answer. He finds Hannibal in the study reading a book. “It’s blood magic,” he says instead of a greeting. “Well, it started as it at least. It has… become something else, hasn’t it?”

“Essentially,” Hannibal agrees, marking his place in the book and setting it to the side. “Every part of the human body can be manipulated or used as fuel for further magic. It is trivial, once you know how to work with blood.”

“Christ,” Will hisses, causing Winston to press back against his legs. “I- what did you do to me?”

“I have done nothing, Will. You would have realized immediately.”

“I  _ slept with you, _ ” Will continues, beginning to pace. “God, what did that- what did that let you do to me?”

“Nothing,” Hannibal insists. “I have not compelled you in any way, nor used my magic beyond changing you.”

“ _ You’re lying,”  _ Will bites out. “Don’t forget that I can fucking tell.”

Hannibal seems to consider something, then the light of understanding fills his eyes. “Ah. I suppose I did do… something.”

Will halts his progress, fixing Hannibal with a harsh glare when he does not continue. “Well?”

Strangely, Hannibal looks away. “Your… internal physiology has not been as drastically altered as I have led you to believe.”

Will blinks rapidly. “The only time you used your magic on me directly was to bypass my refractory period,” he clarifies. Hannibal coughs.

“That is correct.”

“I need a fucking drink for this,” Will laments, collapsing onto what was probably a footrest. Hannibal brings him one, and another for himself. “That’s why you- wouldn’t let me touch you. Couldn’t do it to yourself because your lie didn’t extend that far. How else have you manipulated me, Hannibal?”

“I assure you, I have not-”

“Non-magically.”

Hannibal falls silent, and remains that way for a time before speaking. “The manipulations are second nature to me,” he finally says. “I took great care to avoid them but I suppose that some may have slipped through.”

“Really?” Will laughs, joylessly. “You’re going to tell me that what you stopped yourself from doing counts in your favor? Go ahead, tell me what you graciously spared me from.”

Hannibal fixes him with a sharp look. His brow twitches- he’s irritated, truly now. “The talk show. I considered proposing to you then, on live television, when you would be forced to say yes. From there, it would be quite simple to turn a fake wedding into a real one, with you remaining blissfully unaware.”

“ _ Jesus _ ,” Will winces, a hand rubbing across his forehead. “This is the kind of shit you’re just always thinking? What about right now?”

“I would fuck you,” Hannibal says without hesitation. “Make you lose yourself in the pleasure. I would keep you here, drowning in it, so you would never have the chance to truly think about what you have learned.”

“Then why haven’t you?” It should have horrified him, but Will finds that he is honestly curious about the answer.

“Because it is not what I truly want; for you to be here of your own free will.”

It was strangely sweet, considering the circumstances. If Will dwelled on it too long he was in real danger of losing track of his own intentions. “You sent Randall Tier to kill me.”

“Attack,” Hannibal corrects.

“Okay, attack, whatever. I just don’t… understand  _ why. _ ”

When Hannibal looks at him, it’s so inhuman that it sends a chill down Will’s spine. “Because I wanted to see what would happen.”

Will shakes off the feeling. “That’s bullshit.”

Hannibal actually sighs then, and looks towards where a fire would be roaring if it was later in the day. “I suppose it is.”

“Look, I don’t know why you’re trying to be so… monstrous, I guess. Maybe you’re trying to overstate it so I’ll be less shocked by the truth when it does come out. Can you give it a rest and just answer honestly for once? All this avoidance and deflection is only going to irritate me.”

The words cause Hannibal to face him once more, eyes locked meaningfully on Will’s tail where it is already twitching against the floor. He does not need to call attention to it. “Please trust that this is not another distraction when I say this. There is a… potential for darkness within you, something I saw from the moment we first met. I have been trying to carefully draw it out.”

Will cocks his head and cannot help but smile. “And how has that been going for you?” Hannibal’s only reply is a withering look, since they both know the answer is ‘extremely poorly’. “So you sent him to me to die, hoping it would awaken something in me.” Hannibal nods. “What would you have done if he had won?”

“I must admit that you failing had not even crossed my mind. When I discovered that you had been injured in the altercation, only then did I realize what could have potentially happened.”

“Well, I admire your faith in me, I guess.” He leans forward, his tumbler of whiskey hanging loosely from one hand as the other rubs across his face. “Alright, so the ritual was obviously a product of that as well, there’s Tier, and then what? The river? Apprehending Thorne?”

“The river was truly an accident,” Hannibal says quickly. “I was not aware of the state you were in until Winston realized something was wrong. As for Thorne, I stopped you from killing him entirely, if you care to remember.”

“Winston,” Will says suddenly, and the dog perks up and raises his head to look at him. “Wait, so you said that you created him? Was he your familiar?”

“Formerly.”

Will looks down at the dog at his feet, tail wagging and panting happily. “That doesn’t make any sense. You can’t just… steal someone’s familiar.”

“That was my initial reaction as well,” Hannibal smiles. “When he was mine, I would often send him on… errands, and while it was rare, he would occasionally return to me injured. Apparently, one night you got to him first.”

Will downs the rest of his drink in one gulp and sets the glass to the side before leaning down and scratching Winston’s head. The dog presses up into it, eyes closing happily. “I’m assuming he wasn’t a dog originally.”

“A raccoon, actually.” Will can’t quite hold back the snort of laughter that escapes him. “Something agile was required, something that would never draw a second look.”

“So, what, he was injured so badly it severed your bond? Is that why he was… amorphous, when I found him?”

Again, Hannibal sighs. It’s unlike him, and Will takes great pride in being able to draw the sound out of the other man so easily. “Familiars take after their creators. Looking back, it is not particularly surprising that he found you and simply decided he would rather belong to you.”

Will curses himself internally for drinking his whiskey so quickly, for now he has nothing to take sips of to hide the expression on his face. He’s not entirely sure what emotion he’s showing, but whatever it is certainly makes Hannibal quite pleased. The other man would probably be purring if he was capable of it. “Okay. Right. So I accidentally stole your familiar. Sorry.”

It actually makes Hannibal laugh, a sound that surprises them both. “Do not apologize, Will. I would not have met you otherwise.”

“You were angry.” But no, that was wrong- he wipes the thought away and starts again. “No, you were curious. So you went looking for who took him.”

Hannibal makes a noise of assent. “When I found you, it only fed that curiosity further. You did not seem to be aware of what you had done, nor of Winston’s true nature. From there, it was quite easy to plant the idea of cooperation in Jack’s mind.”

“Wait, you orchestrated that first meeting?” Will blinks, tips his head to the side as he considers the new information. “I always thought Jack’s reasoning had been tenuous at best, but chalked it up to another one of his whims. And after that? Did you… ensure your continued involvement?”

“Only in the beginning,” Hannibal admits. “Once it became apparent I could anchor you, there was no longer any need to do so.”

Will hums thoughtfully. “The grounding,” he begins. “Have you been using your magic?”

“No. It would be far too dangerous, both for yourself and for preserving my own secret.” Hannibal had not gulped down his own drink like Will, and takes a sip now, savoring the flavor. “I imagine this is a subject we have both considered at length.”

“My leading theory at the moment is that it’s tied to your muted emotions.”

“Less interference,” Hannibal muses. “Could it not simply be our own compatibility?”

“It’s probably both,” Will sighs. “Nothing like this is ever simple.”

“It never is.” He’s smiling, again, and on the surface he seems pleased, relaxed. But beneath that there is still a jagged line of anxiety, a vast pit of worry and possibly even fear.

There is something else. Will winds back the conversation in his mind, finds the piece that juts out like a stray nail, and pulls on it. “You kept trying to change me,” he says slowly, turning the words over in his mind. “I cannot figure out why. Are you… displeased, with the way I am?”

“Never,” Hannibal says sharply, the positive emotions fading away to be swallowed up by that deep pit that lay beneath.

“Then are you trying to mold me in your image?”

“I am not a narcissist, Will. What I want from a partner is more than simply having a younger, more attractive version of myself.”

Will can’t quite tell if it’s an intentional distraction or simply the way Hannibal casually thinks of him. Either way, it does not matter. “Then what you’re seeking is acceptance. You have given me… the edges of the picture, but they surround a vast emptiness.” He turns away, lost in his own thoughts and the connections he is making. “That whole disguises something terrible. An intrinsic part of yourself that is so abhorrent that you believed the only way to ensure I accepted it was to change me entirely.” When he turns back, Hannibal is holding himself perfectly still, that same eerily blank expression on his face that makes Will shiver.

“Would you like to know?” he asks, voice flat and void of all emotion. Will can feel nothing off the other man, almost like he is alone in the room with a very vivid hallucination.

It’s more than he is ready for, at the moment. “Tomorrow,” Will murmurs. “It will give me time to digest this.”

Hannibal’s emotions seep back into him, faint but unmistakable. “Perhaps dinner, in the meantime?”

“I could eat.” Will smiles weakly, and what he earns in return is just as uncertain.

Over dinner, a memory flits back to Will, a strange letter forgotten in a drawer. "Who knows?"

Hannibal pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth. "No one knows. Bedelia suspects something, though I doubt she will fully grasp the whole of the matter." He sets the fork back down, peers at Will curiously. "Any reason for the sudden question?"

Something prickles at the back of Will's mind, a tiny voice whispering all the terrible things that may happen to the letter writer if he tells Hannibal. "Just a thought," he murmurs. 

After dinner, after dishes and a nightcap, they make their way upstairs to prepare for bed. Hannibal does not offer him a guest bedroom and Will does not ask for one. Winston lays down beside the bed, on Will’s side. 

Will has always been a lucid dreamer, something he connected vaguely to his powers but never truly dwelled on. He is fishing in a stream not dissimilar to the one outside his own house, pulling out fish after increasingly strange fish when the similarity to another circumstance triggers the thought.

He lays down his reel, lets it rest atop the water. While he had always thought his magic was tied directly to his sight, the incident in the river and Hannibal’s words to him after have made him consider it at length, reexamine the very nature of his powers. If he was correct- that sight only made it easier, not possible in the first place- then perhaps there was another reason behind his lucid dreaming, and who better to try it on than his anchor, wrapped around him as they slept? Will searches inside of himself for the power, allows it to surge forward and fill him, and once again he does not close his eyes.

It forms across the river, like a movie projected onto a screen. Will laughs- partly in shock because it actually worked, partly because of the absurdity of the presentation. He could probably alter it, if he tried, but now it was not important. What he sees is obviously Hannibal’s dreams. An image of himself, covered in blood and smiling, licking the fluid off of his hand and smiling wider to expose his crimson fangs. “Well that’s probably something I should bring up later,” Will mutters, kicking the water to distort the image. He isn’t looking for dreams. He lets himself sink fractionally deeper, the water rising around him to match, and then another image forms. This time, a memory.

He cannot tell if it’s sheer luck that he finds what he does, or if Hannibal has been thinking of it too. What he sees is a man, clearly dead, body thrown into a magic circle, something complicated that he has never seen before. There is an empty wine glass standing next to it. Will- no, he’s Hannibal now- walks partway around the circle, stopping at what must be the head. He draws a knife across his palm, waits a moment for the blood to pool, then crouches and sets the bloody extremity down along the curve. The entire circle flickers and then flashes with a great light before fading back to normal. While what lays inside appears at first glance unchanged, Hannibal walks slowly to the wine glass, leans forward to collect it, drinks from it as if it’s filled with a fine wine. He smiles, breaks the circle, and then begins to drag the body somewhere else.

Will wakes himself here with a groan, shaking his head to clear away the last of the magic before Hannibal wakes and sees the blue glow in his eyes. The movement drags his ear along the fringe of Hannibal’s hair, producing a tickling sensation the ear flicks away. He finds that he is tucked against Hannibal’s chest again, body curled up and tail tangled between their legs, hands trapped between their two bodies. Hannibal stirs around him with a groan. Will waits until he feels the arms around him tighten, a sure sign that Hannibal is actually waking, before speaking. “How many people have you killed?”

All it does is make Hannibal groan again, louder this time. “Breakfast,” he grumbles. The man has always woken quickly, but in the scant moments between sleep and true alertness he is borderline incoherent. “Let me make us breakfast.” He does not make any movements towards actually getting up despite his words.

In the end, Will has to detach himself from the other man’s grip to get him moving. “The longer you put this off the worse it’s going to become in my head,” he warns. Hannibal sighs, but does finally begin to get up.

Winston follows them down to the dining room and lays across Will’s feet. They get about halfway through the meal before Will’s patience finally runs out. “Your magic. Is it all learned, or is there anything inherent?”

Hannibal pauses. “If I did not know any better, I would call that a leading question, Will.”

Will winces. This may be a new record for the shortest amount of time until something he had intended to keep secret was discovered. “Okay, look, I may have tried- not tried, it actually worked. I may have used my magic on you as we were sleeping.”

“Oh?” Hannibal is interested instead of offended. It’s a good start. “What did you see?”

“Your dreams, initially.” The confession makes Hannibal smile, slow and predatory. Will coughs. “Then I went deeper and found a memory. A body in a circle, and a wine glass.”

“Ah.” Hannibal makes a gesture towards their food. “Eat, first. Please.”

Something about it was strangely insistent, but Will does not consider even for a second that Hannibal has done something to the food. He simply values both the food and the experience far too much to ruin it. After, as they wash the dishes, he returns to the question. “The vast majority of what I wield is either learned or taught, though there is one piece that I was born with. I have the ability to… consume, the powers of another.”

“Wait, are you saying you can eat magic?” Will nearly takes a step away from Hannibal, a move that does not go unnoticed based on the unamused look he is given next.

“From the dead,” Hannibal clarifies. “I cannot use or repurpose it, only examine. It is similar to a museum, in a way.”

Will finishes the last dish and hands it to Hannibal to dry. “That makes you, what, some sort of walking library on magic? Is that what you mean when you say you were taught?” He unplugs the drain before turning to face the other man fully, catching the end of a nod. “Alright. So, what, you kill someone, eat the magic, and then use the pieces of the body to create more magic?”

“I have… done that before, yes.”

“How many times?”

When Hannibal does not answer, Will jabs him with his elbow. “You’re terrified, I can feel it. Are you worried I’ll turn on you and you’ll be forced to kill me?” Something flares up there, outrage and disgust, and Will makes a soft noise of surprise. “Oh,” he murmurs. “You’re scared that I’ll turn on you  _ because _ you won’t kill me. You don’t  _ know _ what you’ll be forced to do, only that it will irreparably ruin what we have now.” Hannibal looks at him now, directly, the uncertainty in his eyes so starkly alien that for a moment Will thinks he may be looking at a different person entirely. “Well, we’re in this deep already. Just rip the bandaid off and tell me.”

“When I… tell you this number, I must stress that the vast majority of these are from the beginning of my life.”

“Sure, whatever. Just tell me.” He’s estimating something higher than forty. Even in the low hundreds would be believable, though startling. It must be high with how cagey Hannibal is being, so he prepares himself for a number in the triple digits, just in case the worst is true.

“I have killed one thousand, six hundred and fifty seven people.”

Will turns and vomits in the sink. “Ah, shit,” he gasps between retches as he empties his stomach.

“Will-”

“I’m okay,” Will rasps, holding up a hand to indicate that Hannibal should wait. “Let me just- I’ll be okay in a second.” When he is finished and the urge to vomit fades, he rinses his mouth out under the faucet and tries his best to wash the vomit down the drain and into the garbage disposal. “Fuck. Sorry about breakfast.”

Hannibal is holding a glass of some sort of juice when he finally straightens up and offers it to him. “The fate of breakfast is not something I find myself to be particularly concerned about at the moment.” Will accepts the drink and gulps it down quickly, wincing as it mixes with the sour aftertaste before finally washing it away. “I understand that the number must seem… alarmingly high.”

“Oh, what, do you have some sort of context for it that makes it better? I don’t even understand how that’s possible. Did you descend upon a small village like a swarm of locusts?”

“Will,” Hannibal chastises before he catches himself. “Apologies. I am much older than I look, I assure you.”

Will tilts his head. Blood magic could certainly be used to extend someone’s lifespan, if the legends surrounding it were true. “What are you then? 75? A hundred? Don’t you dare try to tell me that you led an army and a squad of elephants across the Alps.”

“I am not over two thousand years old, Will. That would be ridiculous. I was born in 17-”

“Uncle,” Will interrupts, stopping Hannibal mid-sentence. “Uncle, christ, I need- I need to go take a walk.” Hannibal looks incredibly alarmed and maybe a little bit upset. “I’m not gonna run off or anything, don’t worry. I’ll be back.”

“I suppose I will have to trust you,” Hannibal finally relents. 

“What do you expect me to do, run to Jack and tell him you’re at least three hundred years old and have killed over a thousand people? I’d be in the loony bin before I could blink.”

“The court recognizes-”

“The court isn’t ready for something this blatantly insane,” Will deadpans. “C’mon, Winston. We’ll be back in less than an hour.” He leaves then, doesn’t wait for a response from Hannibal, almost daring the other man to stop him.

When he returns from the park he had walked to exactly an hour later, he finds Hannibal failing to read a book in the study, so out of his mind with worry and anxiety that it’s actually sort of funny. The sheer look of relief on his face when he sees Will blows any mirth away completely. He very obviously wants to go to Will, his own self control the only thing stopping him from moving. Will respects the restraint, in a way. “Alright,” he says softly, sitting in a chair nearby, Winston flopping down at his feet. “Okay. I’ve… ordered my thoughts, to a degree. I’m pretty sure our age difference wouldn’t be considered socially acceptable anymore.” It’s a pretty piss-poor attempt at a joke, but the fact that he’s joking at all helps to relax Hannibal.

“Is it truly so great?”

Will looks at Hannibal in disbelief. “Hannibal, you’re older than this country.”

“I am not, in fact. If you had not interrupted me, you would know that I was born in 1781.”

“Oh, of course. Sorry, you’re a whopping five years younger than this entire country. My mistake, I don’t even know why I brought it up.”

Hannibal, still wary, cocks his head. “My age seems to cause you more distress than my actions,” he points out.

Will winces. It was something he thought about a great length at the park. “It sort of… the body count makes more sense with that context,” he admits. “Especially if the majority of it was in the earlier years. God, how did you keep a straight face when I told you I was glad you weren’t a serial killer?” He sighs. “The idea that you’ve lived so long before I was even born and will likely live a very long time after I die is… strangely unsettling.” He rubs a hand across his face, tail starting to thump against the floor behind him. “Is this what Aragorn felt like?” he mutters, a comment Hannibal appears to ignore entirely.

Instead, the other man is looking at him with genuine confusion. “I do not intend to live beyond you.”

“Huh?” Will can’t quite process the words, particularly as he can tell how they are utterly sincere. “That… you already altered your lifespan, did you not? Are you planning on…” he draws a thumb across his throat, unable to bring himself to actually say it.

The crude gesture makes Hannibal frown. “The opposite, in fact.”

“Oh,” Will murmurs. “ _ Oh.”  _ For a moment he is struck dumb- this goes so far beyond a marriage proposal that he can’t even bring himself to think about it. Thankfully, there is another thing he can latch on to. “How the fuck is that supposed to work?”

The frown deepens. “The mechanics of it would not be much different-”

“No, not that. The other incredibly obvious problem.” As if to punctuate his point, Will’s ears perk up, twitching slightly as his tail sweeps across the floor.

“Of course, my apologies. I forget that that remains a problem for the time being.” Hannibal leans forward, hands held together across his knees. “Our friend Bedelia finds herself on the cusp of a major discovery, the kind that will change life as we know it.”

“A truly permanent transformation spell,” Will finishes. He shakes his head. “Is it safe to assume this is actually your doing?” A thought strikes him, prompting a soft laugh. "Tier doubled as a test run."

“Correct. I imagine alterations such as yours will become quite fashionable, as you were the first, and led to the creation of the actual spell. While it may draw attention, it will not be anachronistic on its own.”

“You’re creating a potentially world-changing spell just so you can extend my own lifespan and can live alongside you until we both die,” Will clarifies, earning a slow nod. “Hannibal, what the fuck are you going to do if I tell you you can take this plan and shove it where the sun don’t shine?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Do I have a choice in the matter here?”

“Of course,” Hannibal insists. “I would not inflict this on someone who was not willing.”

“But what if I reject it all?” Will looks down, eyes locked on the floor. “What will you do if I tell you I never want to see you again, walk out that door and never come back?” His eyes raise now, meet with a man that may as well be carved from marble. “Do you chase me? Does this turn into more of an ‘act first, glue together the shattered pieces of the boyfriend later’ situation?”

“I do not know what I would do,” Hannibal whispers. “You know this. I am simply hoping that we will not have to find out.”

“Ball’s in my court,” Will murmurs. “You know, this is the second time in a week that someone has begged me not to drive them to something drastic. It’s a unique spin on victim blaming, I’ll give the both of you that.”

“Do  _ not _ compare me to that man,” Hannibal snarls, a sudden and sharp rage defrosting his icy demeanour. 

“I’m not trying to insult you.” Will holds up his hands in a placating manner. “I’m just saying that he told me something similar. Even… thanked me, for not ‘forcing’ him to muder someone.” He tips his head to the side, fingers drumming along his knee. “Complete lack of personal responsibility. At least in your case I know that you’re genuinely that unhinged.” Hannibal looks positively frosty, like he may be reconsidering his life choices over the past year. Will smiles at him. “This is what you’ll be dealing with, you know. You must be aware of that.”

“Painfully.” The word comes out clipped. “You have often tested my patience in many ways.”

“Keeps things interesting,” Will teases. “You wanted him dead, obviously. Why didn’t you kill him? Draws too much attention?”

Hannibal considers that, still bristling somewhat. “Partially, I suppose. In the end, I simply thought it would only be fair to give you the choice of his fate.”

“You’d kill him.” Will’s tail is sweeping slowly across the floor behind him as he speaks. “If I asked you to. How would you do it? With your magic?”

“If you would prefer that, then yes.”

Will laughs, and it comes out shaky. “Christ. Before I even consider this weird assassin offer you’re giving me… I need to see who won.” Hannibal makes an inquiring noise, and Will elaborates. “There was a part of him that he had compartmentalized, locked away so thoroughly that when I looked into him I saw two separate beings. It was finally rebelling, threatening to consume him entirely. I think… he could be helped, if he has still retained that division.”

“And if he has lost that battle?”

“Then I guess he shouldn’t have been so certain of who he really is.” They fall silent, eventually broken by a drawn-out sigh from Will. “Look.” He slumps where he is sitting, a free hand combing back through his curls, causing his ear to twitch when he brushes against it unexpectedly. “This, all of this. I’ll need time. It’s too much to take in all at once.”

“I understand.” There are tiny slivers of relief nestled in the vast expanse of wariness Hannibal exudes.  _ I understand, but… _

“I can’t promise I won’t change my mind on this,” Will says carefully. “Maybe I’m just in shock, I don’t really know. But, right now… I don’t particularly feel the urge to run screaming to Jack, or away from you.” 

Now, it is Hannibal who sags, the tension bleeding out of him. “That is all I hoped for.”

“No it isn’t,” Will grumbles. “You could have hoped that I’d say ‘Oh, goody! A perfect opportunity to act out on all my barely repressed homicidal urges. I couldn’t have asked for a better partner!’”

“Realistically hoped for,” Hannibal amends, the tiniest smile emerging on his face. “We can visit him today, if you would like. Though I must warn you, the story has already broken. Everyone will know what happened.”

Will makes an irritated noise. “Well, can’t be worse than catgate, can it? Let’s go.”

Hannibal looks faintly disgusted at Will’s crude pun, but it doesn’t stop him from driving them both to the hospital later in the day, after Will has spoken to Jack about it.

The man’s room is, unsurprisingly, guarded, but Will  _ is _ surprised to find the one currently guarding it is Beverly. “Don’t you have more important things to do?” he jabs.

“Then laying in wait to ambush you? Hell no.” She envelops him in a crushing hug, refusing to pull back until it forces an undignified squeak out of his mouth. Even then, once she has retreated, she punches him in the arm. “That’s for scaring the shit out of me.” She pauses. “Again. Can you please stop getting attacked?”

“It’s not for lack of trying,” Will mutters, rubbing his arm where he has been struck.

Beverly turns to Hannibal. “Maybe you should keep him on a leash or something.”

“Excuse me,” Will hisses. “I’m not a fucking dog.” Hannibal, though, seems to be giving the suggestion some serious consideration. “Look, I want to look at him, Jack cleared it.”

“Yeah, he mentioned that. Go on in, obviously.” She steps aside and lets Will in, but stops Hannibal with a hand on his shoulder before he can follow. “Hey, uh. Thank you. For taking care of him.”

“Of course,” Hannibal answers. Will has stopped just inside the room, head tilted back towards the pair at the doorway. “I would do nothing else.”

“I was half serious about the leash thing. If you ever need help with that, just let me know.”

“I will be sure to keep that in mind, Ms Katz,” Hannibal laughs softly before finally joining Will inside the room, Beverly shutting the door behind them.

Like Jack, Beverly did not seem bothered by the fact that Will went home with Hannibal instead of to a hospital, after he was freed. It’s even more out of character for her than it had been for Jack. Hannibal’s magic must be behind it- it seems that it lingers, spreading to others to perpetuate the manipulations. Subtle but incredibly powerful. The fact that Hannibal is capable of it is almost frightening. Now, though, something scares him more.

“If you buy me a leash I’m going to strangle you with it,” Will warns, which only makes Hannibal’s grin wider. Will decides the best course of action is ignoring him and makes his way over to the bed.

His captor looks strange, lying unconscious on the bed, hooked up to multiple machines. Seeing such a powerful man reduced to this was… jarring, to say the least. Almost absentmindedly, Will picks up the man’s medical chart and skims the top, finally putting a name to the face of the man who had imprisoned him for more than a week. “Francis Dolarhyde,” he murmurs, looking back up at the body on the bed before returning the chart to its place. “I guess it’s time to see who came out ahead.”

Will waits for Hannibal’s hand on his shoulder before closing his eyes. When they are opened, all he sees is a swirling mass of darkness covered in blankets and wires. He makes a distressed sound and lets the power fade away. “He’s gone.” Will looks away, down at the floor. “There’s no trace of him left.”

“Then if he wakes, it will be as a monster. What are we to do about that?”

At the words, Will looks up, turns just enough to lock eyes with Hannibal, sees him watching, waiting, expecting-

There is noise at the door, not a commotion, but rapid words. Will turns towards that instead, ears pricked up and listening.  _ “I understand, ma’am,” _ he hears Beverly say,  _ “but I can’t let anyone inside-” _

_ “Please,”  _ a soft voice begs, distraught but familiar. Will strides towards the door and opens it, finds Beverly speaking to a slender woman, dark skinned and crowned in curls. Her eyes, while pointed at Beverly, do not actually focus on anything, and in her hand she holds a white and red cane. When the door opens her head snaps towards that instead.

“Reba,” Will says, almost unbidden. Beverly turns to him in surprise.

“Oh,” the woman breathes, voice hitching. “Are you Will?”

“Let her in,” he tells Beverly. “I’ll stay with her. She deserves to see him.”

“Jack won’t be happy,” Beverly argues, but she’s already holding the door open for the woman. Hannibal, not even needing to be asked, leaves the two of them alone in the room.

Reba approaches the bed slowly, following the beeping of the machines. “Is it safe?”

“It should be,” Will answers, circling around to the other side of the bed. Reba reaches out and feels along Francis’s arm until he finds his hand, threading her fingers through his.

“Oh, Francis,” she sobs. She does not cry for long, doesn’t allow herself to wallow in it, and when she finishes Will hands her a tissue. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes. “I know that he-”

“Don’t be sorry,” Will interrupts. “To you, he was someone close. Anyways, as far as abductions go, he was weirdly nice about it.”

She actually laughs, soft as it is. “He was so kind. Never pitied me or made me feel weak. Always asked if I needed help and didn’t press it if I said no.” Her head turns, pointing her in Will’s direction. “You must have been there, when I visited him. I feel like I should have noticed something was wrong.”

“I was almost certainly unconscious,” Will lies. “He would put me under, sometimes, when he had to leave or, apparently, had guests over.”

Her hand tightens around Francis’s. While she is remarkably stoic, her emotions, distraught and uncertain, give her away. Will takes a deep breath. “There’s nothing wrong with you, you know,” he says slowly. “Not for attracting a man like him. Not for seeing what was good and falling in love with it despite the rest. All of it, the good and the bad, was equally him.”

She is silent for a long moment. “Do you think he’ll ever wake?”

“I can’t say for certain.” They both turn, eyes landing on the figure on the bed. “But it seems unlikely.”

“Maybe it’s for the best.” Reba leans over, a hand trailing to his face, finally pressing a kiss to Francis’s forehead. “Goodbye, Francis. I won’t regret you.”

Will can say nothing, simply remains where he is as the woman leaves the room, soon replaced with Hannibal. “She deserves closure. The chance to heal, and move on.”

“More than he deserves to live?”

“He wouldn’t want to live like this.”

“Is that your place to decide?”

“No.” Will turns into Hannibal, sees him waiting once more, and reaches for him. “But I’m deciding anyways.” He closes his eyes, leans forward and lets Hannibal wrap an arm around his shoulders. The other drops lower to the bed, brushes against the arm there, before finally joining the other, curling around Will’s torso. “Do you know what she said to him? Not ‘I forgive you’ or ‘I won’t forget you’. She told him she wouldn’t regret him.”

Hannibal’s words are soft against Will’s ear. “Do you regret me, Will?”

“I don’t think I ever could.” He exhales, long and low. “Is it done?”

“He will die slowly but naturally, over the course of the next week. No one will suspect a thing.”

This time, when he breathes, it comes out as a shaky, hollow laugh. “Alright.” He pulls back, and Hannibal lets him. “We should go.”

“And where are we going?”

Will looks up, meets Hannibal’s gaze, swirling with uncertainty and, standing out starkly, hope. “I’m not sure,” he shrugs. “But I know that wherever it is, I don’t want to go there alone.”

When Will holds out his hand, Hannibal takes it with a fragile smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this feels a lot like an ending- well, it sort of is. The last chapter is an epilogue, so the core story is wrapped up with this.


	10. Epilogue

**_One Year Later_ **

It’s early when Will calls Hannibal, though he knows the other man will be awake. “Hey, Hannibal, weird question,” he says as soon as the call connects, forgoing a proper greeting entirely.

“Let me make sure I am sitting down,” Hannibal deadpans back, and Will groans. The other man had grown incredibly relaxed once everything had been bared between them, becoming comfortable enough that he fires back at Will now as often as Will fires back at him.

“Alright, fuck you. Look, when you use parts of people as catalysts, does it affect the end result at all?”

“Quite drastically, in fact.”

“Perfect. Do they _have_ to be dead?”

Hannibal falls silent. “Will, are you suggesting-”

“Use my blood,” Will interrupts. 

The silence this time is longer. “We have discussed this. If you are offering out of some misguided sense of altruism, then I will have to decline.”

Will snorts. “No, I have no interest in becoming your personal blood bank so you won’t kill anyone. I was just… I feel like we should try it, yeah? Aren’t you curious to know what would happen?”

Some rustling is audible over the phone, possibly a book being flipped through. “Could you be here by nine?”

“Nine tonight or in four hours nine?”

“In four hours,” Hannibal clarifies. “I have errands I must do in the morning but should be able to prepare everything by then.”

“I can be there by nine,” Will laughs. “See? I knew you’d be interested.”

“I will see you then,” Hannibal says flatly, ending the call before Will can respond with whatever taunt he had lined up.

“Damn,” Will says softly, looking out at his pack and locking eyes with Winston. “He’s really got my shit figured out, doesn’t he?”

Winston barks, and Will gets up to take care of the dogs before he can leave.

When he arrives, Winston trailing behind him, Hannibal promptly leads him to the basement where a circle is already set up. He’s only a little disappointed when Hannibal draws his blood with a medical kit instead of dramatically slashing his hand open over the circle itself. “Messy and pointless,” Hannibal offers unprompted, apparently well aware of the direction Will’s thoughts have taken. “Now remain seated while I finish with the spell. It won’t do to have your tail sweeping things out of place.”

“What kind of spell is it?” Will asks, watching raptly as Hannibal dips a finger into his collected blood and draws sigils onto the ground. There is a great deal of it left over, Will notices.

“A remote viewing ritual. Since you have so often described what you do in terms of seeing, I thought a sight-related spell would be best suited.”

“Aren’t those bogus?”

Hannibal stands, carefully wiping the excess blood off his finger with a handkerchief. Will almost says something when he pockets it instead of disposing of the stained cloth. “They are real but very weak. I would be lucky to see into the next room, much less another country.” 

“Trying to see a great distance,” Will muses. “Well, go for it.”

The older man steps into the center of the circle, closes his eyes, says a few words Will does not understand, and then absolutely nothing happens.

Will breaks the silence, eventually. “That, uh. Did it do anything?”

When Hannibal opens his eyes, he is frowning. “Nothing, in fact. Not even what it should have done normally.”

“Try again. I’ll watch this time, see if I can spot where it’s going wrong.” Hannibal nods, waits for the blue light to envelop Will’s eyes before trying to cast the spell one more time.

He can, in fact, see where it is going wrong. The magic is flowing within the circle but instead of traveling up into Hannibal’s body as it should it bounces off, back into the swirling eddy. “It’s trying to work, but it looks like it can’t get into you? Whatever it is, it’s blue. Let me try it, maybe I can make it work.”

Hannibal steps out of the circle at the same time Will lets his power fade and blinks the golden hue away. “Have you ever attempted a ritual spell before?”

“No, but it doesn’t look hard. Just have to stand in the center and say the magic words, right?”

“Will,” Hannibal sighs, sounding incredibly exasperated. “As I have told you before, they are words of power-”

“Yeah, whatever, just tell me what they are and I’ll give it a shot.”

Despite his mild irritation, Hannibal recites the incantation, repeating it until he is satisfied that Will has it memorized correctly. “You will want to hold up your tail. If you break the circle mid-spell, it could have terrible ramifications despite the benign nature of the ritual itself.”

“I’m well aware of the repercussions of a backfire, Hannibal,” Will grimaces. He gathers his tail into his arms, steps carefully into the circle until he is standing where Hannibal had been earlier, and recites the incantation precisely and flawlessly.

For a half second he thinks nothing happened. Then, flashing by him rapidly but somehow comprehendable, he sees a day pass by for Hannibal, everything from the meals to the book he reads right before bed. It ends and Will opens his eyes with a gasp.

“Will,” Hannibal calls out, concern coloring his tone. “Will, are you okay? What did you see?”

“I think it was-” and then he looks at Hannibal and snaps his mouth shut. _A memory,_ he almost said, until he _really_ looked and saw Hannibal in reality, standing before him, wearing the exact same clothes as he had been in the vision that had just played before him. “Pen and paper,” Will says quickly. “I need to write something down. And an envelope.”

Hannibal obliges, pulling a notepad and pen out of a nearby desk drawer before heading upstairs to find the third item. When he returns with the envelope Will has just finished writing it all down, the words sloppy but legible. He seals the paper into the envelope and hands it to Hannibal. “Open this, right before you go to sleep tonight. No earlier, you understand?” It is obvious that the other man wants to ask questions, but he simply nods. “Good. Now, I need to go.” Will leans forward, pressing a quick kiss to the increasingly bewildered man’s lips. “See you later, Hannibal.” He departs before he can be stopped, tail swishing behind him as he leaves.

They rest of the day is normal for Will, other than the building excitement and restlessness. He imagines it must be far worse for Hannibal- abandoned so suddenly and in such a strange manner.

It’s around ten at night when Will’s phone rings, and it suddenly strikes him that he doesn’t have to imagine anything about how Hannibal would have felt today. “Will,” is all that greets him, Hannibal sounding oddly breathless. “This is-”

“How accurate was it?” Will interrupts.

“Only one small discrepancy- a different side with dinner, a change I made spontaneously.”

Will hums. “Not infallible, then.”

“Will, when you cast the spell, what did you see?”

“The future,” Will murmurs, anticipation running through his veins like electricity.

Hannibal growls into the phone. “I will be over within the hour.”

“I know you will,” Will laughs, high and light. Just as surely as he saw Hannibal restlessly turning pages in his book, retaining nothing, he had seen Hannibal driving over, pushing him against the wall before they tumble into bed together. “I’ll be ready.”

The line disconnects immediately, Will still laughing, and then he waits for the future to arrive.

He wakes slowly, sprawled on top of Hannibal who has not moved from his position on his back that he had fallen asleep in. He rests his chin on the other man’s chest, peering upwards at his sleeping face. If he wanted to be nice, Will could let the other man sleep, wait until he woke naturally. They were up quite late after all, and he suspects Hannibal is as exhausted as he is. 

In the end, his tail thumping behind him makes the decision for them both, hitting Hannibal one too many times and waking the man who stirs with a groan. “Good morning,” Will says excitedly, smiling broadly.

“Good morning, Trophonius,” Hannibal answers with a slow smile.

“Christ,” Will mutters. “That’s a hell of a reference. Can’t you just call me Nostradamus like a normal person?”

Instead of answering, Hannibal puts his hands in Will's hair, scratching and massaging until the man begins to purr. “I have been thinking,” he begins to say, but he only gets that far before Will interrupts him.

“I guess I wasn’t doing my job very well then was I,” Will teases, earning him a sharp tug on his ears. He laughs, and it dissolves back into purring.

“As I was saying, you insufferable man, I may have a theory as to what occurred.” Will makes a vague _go on_ motion with his hand, unwilling to exert the effort of speaking further at the moment. “With your magic and enough time, you could see to the very core of a person, know them in their entirety, could you not?” Will gives a lazy thumbs up in response, eyes closing in pleasure. “You were able to form that profile in an instant and then extrapolate forward to it, accurately predicting my future actions down to the tiniest detail.”

Will does not open his eyes, but his purring winds down as he thinks. “It would explain the error,” he admits. “Can’t predict sudden whims or changes of hearts." He extends a finger and pokes Hannibal wherever it lands first, which ends up being a shoulder. "Stop giving me strange powers. I'm starting to feel like the protagonist of a poorly written young adult novel."

"Do they typically fall in love with mass murderers?"

"Hey, don't joke. They've been getting pretty dark lately. Don't stop petting me." Hannibal obeys, fingers moving out to scratch gently at Will's ears. The purr gains strength once more. "What you're suggesting… I’m not entirely sure that’s possible.”

“A permanent transformation spell was not thought to be possible either, and one should be available for purchase by the end of the month. A ritual, as well. Something anyone could do if they are careful enough.”

"Yeah, but seeing the future?"

"Will," Hannibal sighs, fondly exasperated. "That is why they call it magic."

Will finds he has no rebuttal for that. “Alright, point taken. It doesn’t seem particularly useful, anyways.”

“Perhaps not in this state,” Hannibal says, words careful enough that Will stops purring entirely, tipping his head to the side. “With a great many years to hone it, it could become something truly remarkable.”

He opens his eyes now, meeting Hannibal’s gaze. While the other man had hinted at it a great deal, neither of them had revisited Hannibal’s offer since they day Will had been rescued. “How would it work?”

“You would stop aging. It does not make you immortal and your body will still function as normal, it will simply not degrade.”

“Seems like it would be pretty obvious to everyone we know here. Does this involve faking our untimely demises?”

“It would be easy enough for me to temporarily alter our appearances to mimic aging. The spell…” Hannibal trails off here, eyes breaking away and fixing on the ceiling. “It is not technically permanent. If it is not tended to, it will wear off and you will die.”

“What, like automatically? What if one of us gets arrested for an unpaid parking ticket or something?”

“No jail can hold me, and by extension, you.”

“Alright,” Will says. “Fair enough. So, on a scale of one to Elizabeth Báthory…”

Hannibal huffs a laugh. “Nor more than one per year, and the enchantment will build in power as time passes and require less and less. Personally, I am at once a decade, now.”

“Hmm.” Will thinks about it, and when Hannibal finally looks back down at him it feels like the easiest decision he’s made in his entire life. “Yeah, alright. Let’s do it.”

For a moment, Hannibal does not speak, might not even be breathing, a suspicion that is confirmed when it rushes out of him in one long exhale. Will is nearly thrown off of the other man as he sits up, pulling Will back into his lap and kissing him fiercely, all of the emotions he had been restraining pouring out of him like a dam has burst. It is all Will can do to push the other man away from him so he can speak. “How long does it take to set up?”

Hannibal cocks his head to the side. “It does not have to be immediate. If you would prefer, we can wait until you reach something closer to the age I was when I performed my own.”

“Uh.” Will hadn’t even considered that option, and finds he doesn’t actually care. “Do you have any reservations about the way I look now?”

The question makes Hannibal growl, moving his lips to press against Will’s neck. “You are a Botticelli given life,” he says between kisses.

“So that’d be a no,” Will laughs. “My appearance doesn’t really matter to myself. You’re going to be the one stuck looking at me for the rest of the millennium, so you can decide that for yourself.” Hannibal bites down at that, teeth leaving a sharp imprint in Will’s shoulder.

“You would age with grace, but I confess I do not know if I will have the patience to wait that long, not once you have already given me your consent.”

“So how long?”

“A month, minimum.”

Will thinks. “How about 48 days from now?”

Hannibal pulls back, an enraptured look on his face. “Three years from the day we first met.”

“Come on, we can put cowhide rugs around the room. It’ll be great.”

“Will you still be this vexatious one hundred years from now?”

“Only one way to find out,” Will laughs, so light and full of joy that Hannibal finds he cannot help but join in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank everyone enough for the response this got. I've loved reading everyone's comments and seeing people guess about how the story will progress, and I really hope it went a way everyone was satisfied with! Thank you so much for all the support!
> 
> Now that this is finished, I have to come clean about something. The title is a terrible, terrible play on words. It's a corruption of the phrase 'an ounce of discretion is worth a pound of wit' and, well... ['ounce' is another name for snow leopard.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snow_leopard)
> 
> I don't currently have plans to revisit this and haven't written anything beyond a short exploration of how Will's newfound powers would develop but nothing is ever totally off the table! I get hit by powerful urges to write things from time to time and I did have a lot of fun with this. Maybe someday my brain will go back into catboy mode.
> 
> Oh, [I have a twitter!](https://twitter.com/after_ate) Mostly I just use it to retweet a ton of Hannibal stuff but I do vaguetweet about my writing so if you're interested in either, well, that exists.
> 
> Finally, Will and Hannibal absolutely get married in this lifetime and yes, Beverly is Will's best man.
> 
> Edit: yes the word count was intentional thank you for your time


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